A Rider's Heart
by Mariah.James.Wolff
Summary: Part II : The Sequel to A Rider's Blood. After surviving the initial trip to the Varden and the ensuing battle, the Riders begin thinking about going to the elves for training. Things take an unexpected turn before they can arrive however, changing their plans for better or worse. Reviews always welcome! Eragon Saphira Murtagh Arya Mariah Mark Andrar Roran Inheritance Brisinger
1. Updates, Information, and Characters

**This is part Two of Four stories in _A Rider's Inheritance._  
**

**A Rider's Blood is Part I (1) so read that one before moving onto this story, A Rider's Heart - Part II (2).  
**

**Disclaimer:** This story is a FanFiction based on the events in those books, and some parts may be similar or exactly the same as parts of the book. If I took note of them all, this comment would never end. Just know that some parts are mine and some parts belong exclusively to Christopher Paolini. I do not take credit for any of his words, merely intertwine them with my own to write this story. If there are any questions, please contact me, leave a comment in a review, etc. Thank you.

Author Notes: As I am writing this, I am re-reading the Inheritance Cycle. Currently I'm on page 353/668 of _Eldest_ - Black Morning Glory

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**A Rider's Heart Characters**

_As of Chapter Sixty-One: For King and Country  
_

Author updates after every new chapter, spoilers will be kept to a minimum on this page and will be posted with a warning if they are **absolutely necessary***

***Review Comments** will be added to the bottom of this page and labeled as to when they were added*

**Upcoming:** None at the moment

**Newly Added: **The New Riders

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**Main/Current**

_**Mariah**_ – Age: 15-16 Black straight hair to her chin, green eyes. Slightly shorter than Eragon.

Typical Clothing: red tunic with tan pants. Avoids dresses for practical reasons, likes dresses when she's not going to get into fights or dirty. Tight fitting black gloves with good grip on weapons. Knee-high black boots. Leather or metal armor of varying degrees, typically vambraces, greaves and an armored skirt of some kind. Breastplate, shoulder paldrons, etc. are usually optional.

Weaponry: Sword tied to her belt, daggers and knives usually located in her boots and at her waist. Magic from training with Brom and being a Rider.

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**_Marcus_** – Age: 18 Black hair to his ears, blue eyes. Taller than Eragon. Scar over his left eyebrow in his hair line.

Typical Clothing: green tunic with brown pants. A brown hooded riding cloak clasped at his collar with brown knee high boots.

Weaponry: Able to use a sword well from training with Brom. Bow and arrows, used for hunting. Obsession with magic, talented from reading so many informational books and practice.

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**_Eragon_ **– Age: 16 Blond hair, blue eyes.* Slightly taller than Mariah.

Typical Clothing: white tunic with tan jacket and brown pants. Brown boots.

Weaponry: **Zar'roc **was Morzan's sword before Brom took it and gave it to Eragon. He can also use magic and is going to train with the elves to get better.

*Yes, I know. Eragon has brown hair and eyes in the books. However, I like the contrast with Mariah's hair color to his, and no one else has blond hair. If you don't like him having blond hair, then ignore this and think brunette with brown eyes instead. I myself am brown haired, so I have nothing against brunettes. I just like picking on Eragon about his blond hair because it's so out of place.

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**_Murtagh_** - Age: 18 Shaggy dark brown hair, gray eyes. Slightly taller than Eragon.

Typical Clothing: brown tunic with brown pants. Brown boots. All well worn.

Weaponry: Hand-and-a-half sword. Hunting knife.

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_**Arya**_ - Age: Unknown Long wavy black hair, vibrant green eyes. Tall and thin.

Typical Clothing: a tunic with leggings allowing her to run and fight with ease.

Weaponry: Elvish sword and bow. Magic from being an Elf.

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_**Nasuada**_- Age: 17 Mossy, braided long black hair. A wide nose and dark eyes and rich skin tone.

Typical Clothing: Long dresses of varying colors. All are high quality and made specifically for her.

Weaponry: Is able to use a bow with ease. Carries a concealed knife.

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_**Kieran**_- Age: 18 Long brown hair to her mid-back and deep midnight blue eyes. Wears heels to make her taller.

Typical Clothing: battle-ready armor over her chest, shoulders and hips. Armor greaves and vambraces. Dresses and jewelry.

Weaponry: **Eirian** is her silver Rider's Blade that formerly belonged to an ancient Elvish Rider called Fëanáro. Also carries a dagger.

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_**Kendra -** _Age: 18 Short brown hair to her shoulders and deep midnight blue eyes. Wears worn in heeled boots.

Typical Clothing: worn, comfortable yet tight-fitting dark clothes to hide her at night. An armored corset.

Weaponry: Magic (healing and fighting), swords, daggers and a bow.

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**Black Lightning Members**

_**Rowan**_- King of the Black Palace, member of Black Lightning with Kendra. Dark hair and blue-gray eyes. Twenty.

_**Trevin**_- Black Lightning archer. Ginger hair and gold eyes. Twenty.

_**Delaney**_ - Black Lightning Tactician and lancer. Blonde hair and brown eyes. Eighteen.

**_Eirika -_ **Black Lightning healer. Blonde hair and brown eyes. Sixteen.

**The New Forsworn**

**_Camilla Reikena _**- Dark brown eyes. Waist length curly, wild brown hair and fine skin. Rapier weapon of choice. Twenty-two.**  
**

**_Cederic Reikena_**- Dark brown eyes. Curly brown hair to his ears and fine skin. Double handed sword or axe. Twenty-one.

**_Pearce_**- Gray eyes. Short blonde hair and sun-worn skin. Short sword and shield. Nineteen.

**_Hal Kirkland_**- Stormy blue eyes. Cropped brown hair and tanned skin. Sword. Twenty-one.

**_Innes Thorston -_** Brown and hazel eyes. Long platinum hair and fair skin. Magic. Twenty.

**_Odette Blithe_**- Brown eyes. Pale ginger hair with peaches and creme colored skin. Archery. Nineteen.

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**Deceased**

**_Brom_ **– Age: Unknown, Silver hair, blue eyes. Taller than Mark

Typical Clothing: Brown cloak, boots, leggings and dark blue tunic.

Weaponry: Sword and magic.

Mariah and Mark's grandfather - he died while trying to escape the Ra'zac.

_**Durza - **_Shade Eragon and Mariah fought in Gil'ead. Red hair and eyes. Vampiric looking, teenager. Eragon killed him during the Battle of Farthen Dur.

_**Ajihad**_** -** Human leader of the Varden. A friend of Brom's. Interrogates Eragon and Mariah and answers their questions when they arrive. He died while trying to route the remaining Urgals in Farthen Dur.

_**Garrow**_ – Eragon's uncle, Roran's father. Died at the hands of the Ra'zac when they destroyed his home.

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**Creatures**

Dragons:

_**Andrar**_ – Red-orange scales. Male. Mariah's dragon. Several months older than Saphira. Bulkier than the female dragonesses, though larger in every respect as well. His wing span is wider than Saphira's and his claws, spikes and teeth longer.

_**Saphira** _– Ocean blue scales. Female. Eragon's dragoness. She is lithe compared to Andrar with a smaller wing span and more curved features. Her scales are more rounded than Andrars, which are more diamond shaped.

_**Nasreen**_- Magenta-red-pink-purple scales. Female. Princess Kieran's dragoness. She's twice as large as Andrar with a very feminine physique compared to Saphira.

_**Thorn**_ - Ruby red dragon with a fierce fiery gaze. Murtagh's dragon given to him by Galbatorix. He's newly hatched and no larger than a cat.

_**Glaedr** _- Gold dragon with a missing foreleg. His size is massive, mountainous even. He's hundreds of years old, like his elvish Rider.

Horses:

**_Aluora_ **– Marcus' dusky white mare, with black mane, tail, legs, ears and nose-tip.

_**Snowfire** _– Pure white stallion. Brom purchased him in Therinsford. Mariah rode him after Brom. Lives at the Varden.

**_Cadoc_** – Light bay horse Brom purchased for Eragon in Therinsford. Eragon named him after his grandfather.

_**Tornac**_** -** Murtagh's Gray stallion.

_**Battle-storm** _- Nasuada's black roan stallion.

_**Lynette** _- Kendra's chestnut mare.

_**Breeze **_- Eirika's black and white appaloosa mare. She's mainly black with a white blanket on her haunches.

Other:

_**Solembum **_- A werecat. He lives with Angela at her Herbalist shop in Teirm. Now in Farthen Dur.

**_Ra'zac_** – Servants of Galbatorix. Eragon wants revenge against them for killing his uncle Garrow.

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**Characters  
**

Enemies:

**_Morzan_ **– One of the thirteen Forsworn/Wyrdfell Riders. Murtagh's father.

_**Galbatorix** _– King of Alagaësia, a Dragon Rider. His dragon is named Shruiken. The black beast is his second and has been warped and twisted beyond the point of calling it a dragon.

_**The** **Twins**_ - Members of the Varden's magic society Du Vangr Grata, they betray Eragon and Mariah during the Battle of Farthen Dur, later revealing themselves to be working for Galbatorix.

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Allies:

_**Oromis**_- Elvish Rider from Ellesmera. He's vowed to train the new Dragon Riders, which now includes Eragon and Saphira.**  
**

_**Orik**_** -** Dwarf from the Varden who rescued Eragon and Mariah from drowning in the waterfall pool. Nephew of King Hrothgar.**  
**

_**Queen Islanzadi**_- Elvish queen from Du Weldenvarden. Also, apparently Arya's mother, much to Eragon's surprise.

**_Hrothgar_**_- _Dwarf King who helps to lead the Varden alongside Ajihad. Also Orik's uncle.

_**King**** Orrin**_**- **King of Surda who helps the Varden survive and retaliate against the Empire.

**_Roran_** – Eragon's cousin. Left before Garrow's death for work in Therinsford as a blacksmith's assistant. Currently leading Carvahall through the Spine to escape from Kieran and the Empire.

_**Katrina -**_A beautiful girl from Carvahall, daughter of Sloan, the butcher. Roran is madly in love with her. They recently became engaged, though Roran didn't ask Sloan's permission before doing so.

**_Angela_** - Herbalist in Teirm. Likes frogs and riddles. Is also a witch who told Eragon his fortune with Dragon Bones.

**__****Gannel** - the dwarf priest who tutored Eragonin Dwarven customs and religionafter Eragon was invited to be a part of Durgrimst Ingeitum.

_**Trianna** - Sorceress in Farthen Dur, leader of Du Vrangr Gata after the Twins._

_**Jeod**_ _**Longshanks **_- Graying with a beard. Friend of Brom's from when they were younger. Owns a shipping company. Knows about Saphira. Helped Eragon and Brom find the Ra'zac.

_**Helen Longshanks** _- Blonde with a pale complexion. Wife of Jeod.

**___**_ – Mark and Mariah's father.

_**_ _** _- Mariah and Mark's Mother

**_Horst_ **– Blacksmith in Carvahall

_**Elain** _– Horst's wife

**_Gertrude_ **– Healer in Carvahall

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**OC Other**: Characters created by the author for story purposes that do not appear in the books.

**_Jenna - _**Gypsy woman met on the road to Teirm**  
**

**_Kyan_ -** Jenna's husband, leader of Gypsy merchant caravan

_**Azraa**_- Jenna and Kyan's daughter, eight years old

_**Fadil**_- Jenna and Kyan's eldest son, eleven years old

_**Maher -**_Jenna and Kyan's younger son, six years old

_**Lord** **Breezewood**_ - A lord that lives on the border of Surda and the Beor Mountains

_**Natalie**_- Kieran's personal maid. A young girl who excels at sewing.

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**Review Comments and Questions**: _Author Answers_

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None


	2. Ch 42: Draumr Slytha

**Chapter Forty-Two: Draumr Slytha**

Eragon cried quietly for a moment, pressing his forehead against hers. "Please." He begged, focusing and trying to find her consciousness.

_The mind he entered into was completely void. Eragon quickly found himself swallowed by the darkness. He shivered and looked around for a moment before realizing he needed a light. Without even thinking the word, a fire appeared in front of him._

_Instantly, the darkness retreated. He blinked and looked ahead, seeing Mariah standing in front of him. She was pale, with dark circles under her eyes, the white dress she was wearing merely accentuating her dark features. "Eragon."_

_"Mariah…" he walked over to her but she took a step back. With her gaze locked on him, she pivoted on her heel and started sprinting away at full speed. "Wait!" He shouted, running after her. The flickering fire he had somehow manifested faded as he ran from it. Soon, he found himself engulfed in darkness again. "Great."_

_He looked around, trying to find anything that would give him an idea as to where she'd gone. After a moment, he heard the high-pitched laugh of a child._

_"Who are you?"_

_Eragon turned around and stared at the small girl in front of him. She came up to his waist, must have been about six or seven at the most. Her black hair was pulled back with a red ribbon, the bow puffing up around her left ear. She was wearing a matching dress and brown shoes. It appeared she had been playing, for her face was smudged with dirt and a stray leaf seemed to be caught in her hair. "Mariah?"_

_"That's my name, silly goose. Who are you?" She asked again, lacing her hands together behind her back._

_"Eragon."_

_Her smile fell, "You can't be Eragon. You're much too tall. And you're a lot older than he is. Nope, you can't be Eragon. How old are you?"_

_"Sixteen…"_

_"You're older than my brother is!" Mariah blinked. "He's only ten. I'm seven." She held up seven fingers. "See?"_

_Eragon looked over as he heard footsteps approaching, watching as a small blond boy ran toward them._

_"You run so fast, I can't keep up." He said._

_"You need to run faster then," she said, folding her arms at him. "See, this is Eragon, not you." Mariah insisted._

_"Hi…" the smaller boy waved a bit at him._

_Eragon blinked and merely stared at the younger version of himself._

_"Mariah?"_

_"Oh, that's my brother. We have to go." She nodded, smiling at him. "It was nice meeting you." Mariah grabbed hold of seven-year-old Eragon's hand and hauled him away quickly._

_He watched them vanish into nothingness and sighed again, sitting on the ground. After what seemed like an hour, he lifted his head and shouted, "Will someone just tell me what's going on? I just want to find Mariah and wake her up..."_

_"It's going to be difficult to find Mariah when you don't know which one to look for."_

_Turning around again, he stared at the woman in front of him. She was taller than him, wearing high heeled black boots. Over her body was stunning gold armor, the intricate filigree was nothing short of god-like, no mortal could have made something so intricate. At her waist sat an equally beautiful sword, the black scabbard had gold inlays and a large red gemstone sat in the hilt. Her hair was piled on top of her head, bound with an ornate gold band; loose strands of hair were dripping around her face. While her face seemed familiar, it was sharper and more defined that the one he was used to. There was an edge to her jaw and nose, her cheekbones were higher and her eyes seemed deeper than the ones he knew. She looked like a warrior goddess._

_"Eragon?"_

_He caught himself staring and blinked. "I… I just want to find Mariah."_

_"As I said before…" she said, waving her hand. "Which one?" The void they were in vanished and was instantly replaced with a dense forest, bright and shining. It was nearing sunrise and the sky was brightly lit with morning colors of pink, purple, orange and blue. She waved her hand again and two chairs appeared. "Sit." She insisted, sitting down and folding one of her legs over the other. The morning sunlight caught the gold detail and glimmered._

_Watching her for a second her decided to sit, "I… what do you mean which one?"_

_"When we, that is – Mariah, were attacked by Durza, he tried to wipe out our memory completely. However, when you killed him some part of his spell broke and this is what remains of it. That is why you appear to be stuck in this dark void. Anything you come across in here is some piece of us shattered and scattered by him. You made it this far though, without going mad, so you must be doing something right. If there's any hope of you finding us alive when you get out of here, you need to find your Mariah. She's the only one who can pull it all back together. If you try to pull out the wrong one, there are two possible outcomes… one is that we die. The other is that we revert back to or jump forward to that part of us. For instance… were you to try and pull that small girl you just met with you, we might wake up believing we're seven years old. On the other hand, if I were to go with you, I think you might find I'm much more mature than any Mariah you've known."_

_"So you're not actually real… you can't be, because Mariah's never looked like you…"_

_She smiled a bit, "I'm the imaginary adult Dragon Rider that she wishes she could be. It's unlikely I will ever actually exist, there's a lot in between her present self and me. If we never wake from this spell, I won't exist. If we never live through this war, I won't exist. If something happens to you… or Mark, Murtagh, Andrar… this will not be the person Mariah turns into."_

_Eragon stared at her, "How do I find her?"_

_"That, I can't tell you."_

_"You seem to have so much control in here though."_

_She smiled, "I have control over my own portion of this dream. Others have control over their own spaces… it's going to take you a while, but you will find us. Don't give up. No matter what, you can't give up in here…"_

_"I won't, I promise."_

_A dragon roared from overhead. She stood gracefully and he jumped to his feet. "I have to go and you have to continue searching."_

_"Mariah?" Eragon heard the voice coming from behind him and didn't have time to turn around before a man walked past his left side to her. Like she was, he wore tall boots and intricate armor. Standing beside Mariah, he was taller by a few inches. There was a sword at his hip with a sapphire embedded in the hilt. He kissed her lightly. "We have to go; your brother's going to start worrying I've managed to lose you."_

_"He shouldn't worry so much." She smiled and looked back at Eragon, walking to him. "Stay safe and never give up on us. We love you." Mariah leaned forward slightly and kissed him. After a short moment, she walked back to the man._

_Finally looking at him, Eragon saw his own bright blue eyes stare back at him through sharpened features. He smiled and wrapped his arm around Mariah as she returned, walking her through the forest towards the sound of roaring dragons. As the forest melted around them, he realized why it had seemed so familiar. The clearing in the Spine so close to Carvahall vanished and became the empty void once more._

_Eragon stood there in silence for a long while, his own thoughts missing as he tried to store everything in his memories. He could have stayed in that clearing with her for hours, but it had felt like seconds. As he waited in the darkness, he started hearing someone crying. After pinpointing the location, he started in that direction. He was starting to tire after what felt like hours. There was once he thought of stopping and trying to figure out a different way, but decided against it immediately after._

_Finally, he reached a door. Opening it carefully, he saw himself lying in a bed, eyes closed with his torso wrapped in bandages. Lifting his eyes, he saw another bed beside the first with Murtagh in it, bandages around his forehead as he lay there coughing blood. He heard more crying and finally saw Mariah sitting in a chair beside a third bed._

_"It'll be okay…" he said gently, holding his sister's hand. "I promise."_

_She shook her head, "Don't promise that. You can't."_

_"Everything will be alright Mariah."_

_"I should have been there. I could have helped." She whimpered, "I'm so useless… I can't even save you. Now I have to sit and watch you die… you can't Mark please. Not you…"_

_He smiled at her slightly, "It was going to happen eventually… you knew that."_

_"Not today. It doesn't have to happen today, please. You can't leave me," she cried._

_"I'm sorry," Mark told her. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers slowly. When he lowered his hand back down he stopped breathing._

_Eragon watched and walked over behind her, setting a hand on her shoulder. "Mariah?"_

_She turned around and stared at him through tear-stained eyes. Her face was the same as the one he remembered seeing just before entering this dream-state. For a moment he smiled, relieved at having found her. After staring into her eyes though, he realized she seemed different, broken. Not his Mariah._

_He couldn't tell her it was alright, because clearly it wasn't. "I… what… happened?"_

_"You were attacked…" she whispered. "I couldn't save you. I'm sorry… I should have been there."_

_"No… no you would have died too."_

_"You don't know that." She stood up and walked to Murtagh who had quieted down as well. Mariah bit her lip and cried harder. "You're all dead… and it's my entire fault. I should be able to save you but I can't… I'm not strong enough." She leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor, burying her face in her hands._

_He watched her and reached towards her hesitantly. "Mariah…" She shook her head, sobbing. "You're not strong enough yet… but you will be." He insisted, kneeling in front of her. "You will be strong enough one day."_

_"There's no point," she said, looking up at him. "You're all dead. Nothing can bring back what's already gone."_

_Eragon could feel his heart constrict in his chest for a moment. "There is always a way to bring back what's gone… it might be in a different way or take much time and effort, but you can bring it back." He touched her face gently, "Don't be sorry… just get stronger."_

_She reached up and hugged him tightly. "I promise."_

_When he blinked, the room he'd been in was gone and he was kneeling in front of nothing but thin air. Standing, he told himself, "There can't be much more to this." As he walked slowly through the void, he started thinking about death. After being in that room, he felt closer to it than he had before. It was his responsibility to find Mariah; otherwise she was bound to die. She was practically dead already. His eyes started watering as the thought crossed his mind. Eragon shivered and let out a gasp. Losing Mariah would hurt more than losing Garrow, or Brom, he knew it would._

_At the thought, a room burst into being around him. The cell was warm and well lit, with a washbasin in one corner and a writing desk – equipped with quills and ink – in another. The ceiling was extensively carved with lacquered figures; the floor was covered with a plush rug. Murtagh was lying on his back in the bed, reading. Eragon recognized the room as his cell in the Varden, however the Murtagh laying there must have been at least ten years older than he was now._

_Before he had time to wonder why Mariah knew what the room looked like, she walked over and sat on the edge of the bed next to him. "What are you reading?" She asked him, looking over at the pages._

_He shut the book and smiled up at her, "Nothing, now that you've my full attention."_

_Watching, Eragon realized that this Mariah was once again older. If he had to guess, he would assume she was twenty five, somewhere around there. Unlike the one in the armor, she had on a deep burgundy dress. It was decorative, with leafy gold embroidering around the cuffs and neckline, which was dipping rather low on her chest. She had on soft black slipper-like shoes. Mariah's hair was loose, cascading down her back. He watched her sharp eyes blink at Murtagh, they were angled and a little more worn than they had seemed on the armored version of her._

_Then she did something he wasn't expecting. She leaned down and kissed him on the lips. Eragon's mind flashed back to those two kisses he'd seen her give earlier and this didn't match up with them in the least. Murtagh reached up and kissed her back for a long moment, his fingers tangling in her black hair._

_He didn't want to be here. This was not what he had expected, in the least. "This needs to stop!" He shouted._

_They jumped and Murtagh drew a dagger from underneath the pillow, shielding Mariah. After a moment of him staring he blinked, "Eragon? What the hell are you doing here?"_

_Clearing his throat a bit, "I didn't mean to say that out loud."_

_"What?"_

_"Nothing… I'm here to save Mariah."_

_"What do you mean?" She asked him, blinking. "I'm fine."_

_"No… the real you, that's asleep right now. She won't wake up, which is why I'm here."_

_She sat there for a minute, thinking, "Oh! That, of course. I'd forgotten about that. It seems like it happened so long ago."_

_"I'm trying to save you, is there anything you can do to help me?"_

_"Hmm, let's see," she sat and thought about it for a minute. "I can't say I know where I'm at, but I do know that you've been in here a while, so you should be getting close."_

_Murtagh nodded, "You should find her soon enough. Please, make sure you do find her. I'd do it myself, but you're the Rider, not me." He said. Mariah smiled at him and kissed his cheek._

_"Thanks…" he said slowly._

_"Of course. Now, you should hurry, the longer you wait the harder this will get." Mariah assured him._

_He didn't think it could get much worse than this. Without another word he turned around and walked through the door._

_Once the door closed, it vanished. Eragon took a deep breath, contemplating everything. His heart hurt after seeing them together. It might have crossed his mind once or twice, but actually seeing it was different. They were his best friends. They were both very similar to one another and got along great when Mark wasn't around or their lives weren't in danger. On the other hand, remembering the image of Mariah and himself together in the Spine, he couldn't help but wonder which one she wanted more. Maybe he was just over thinking it, maybe this place was just messed up because of the spell, and maybe she didn't have any control over her thoughts. As he continued through the void he made up his mind: she didn't have control over all her thoughts. He didn't, why would she?_

_His heart skipped a beat as he tripped over the nothingness and started falling straight down. His stomach did a few flips and he shouted, not knowing which way was up. Eragon hit something solid finally, stone floor and moaned, rolling onto his back and gripping his stomach, trying to breathe._

_"What are you doing here?" A boot pressed against his chest, making it even more difficult._

_"I'm… I'm supposed to be helping Mariah." Eragon said, coughing._

_"I don't want or need your help, Eragon," she snapped._

_He stared up at her and blinked, confused. "What… do you mean?"_

_"I have nothing to say to you. You shouldn't be here…"_

_"I'm just trying to save you!" Eragon insisted._

_"I don't need saving, I'm right here."_

_"No… I mean the real you, not you you." He sighed, regaining his breath. Everything was confusing and made his head hurt._

_She removed her boot and he could hear her walking away. Quickly, he got to his feet. It appeared to be mid-afternoon. He was standing in the middle of a busy city street, it smelled a bit like ocean so he had to assume it was Teirm._

_"Mariah!" He shouted, following her._

_She ignored him and kept walking. Forcing him to follow or give up, she started through the street at a trot, twisting through the crowds of people, slowing him down. He had to stop once or twice to try and find her again before spotting her walk into a shop. When he walked through the door she was waiting for him, both hands on her hips, "Why are you still here?"_

_"Why do you seem to hate me?"_

_"After everything you did? You're still going to ask me that? You're such a bastard. I can't believe I ever even liked you…"_

_He bit his tongue and took a breath, trying to figure this out. "I don't remember what I did to you that made you hate me so much."_

_"Of course you don't," she said, shaking her head and walking over to the shop owner, talking to her about the dress she had asked for her to make. Eragon watched her and waited at the door. She was bound to try and leave at some point. When she turned to leave, she sneered at him, "Move."_

_"Not until you tell me what's got you so bothered with me."_

_She inhaled and sighed. "You honestly don't remember?"_

_"No." He told her flatly._

_"It's your fault Brom's dead." She said, "It's your fault my brother died, because you're such a moron. You throw yourself in danger every single chance you get. He was just trying to save you. And Murtagh, getting captured like that after coming after you. You are always the problem. You can't save yourself, you expect everyone else to do that for you. Your uncle died because you turned into a Dragon Rider. I'm surprised you haven't gotten Saphira killed with everything you get yourself into. I left because I couldn't stand being around the person who helped cause the death of everyone I care about. Now move aside, Eragon."_

_He blinked as she shoved him away from the door, striding outside again._

_The shop around him melted into black once again. Eragon let out a slow breath, trying to release any anger that had risen in his chest. "She can't control all her thoughts…" he reminded himself._

_"Who can't what?"_

_He turned around and smiled at twelve year old Mariah. Out of everyone so far, she seemed the most familiar. Finally, a little relief set in after the last few scenarios he'd been a part of. "It's nothing."_

_"You're lying."_

_Eragon chuckled a bit, "Sorry, I just don't want to tell you."_

_"That's fine," she nodded. "What are you doing?"_

_"Looking for you actually," he admitted._

_Mariah blinked, "That's weird… why would you be doing that?"_

_"Because you're kinda lost at the moment," he said._

_"This sounds like there's going to be a lot of explaining…" she admitted. "We should sit down." With that, she clapped her hands and Carvahall appeared around them. Eragon looked around and sighed, immediately homesick. The vision she'd created was perfect, down to the last details. He could even smell Elain's apple pie baking somewhere nearby. There was a bench lining the blacksmith's shop and she quickly pulled him over to it, sitting him down. Mariah sat next to him, "So, why do you say I'm lost?"_

_"Well…" he said, leaning on his knees. "You were in a fight and got a spell put on you… and it made you fall asleep. Now you won't wake up."_

_"Oh… that sounds bad." She admitted. "Didn't Mark do anything to help?"_

_He shook his head, "He can't figure anything out."_

_"Hmm," she tapped her lip. "So you just need to figure out how to wake us up?"_

_"Yes, exactly. How do you know so much, you seem rather young?"_

_"I think you're getting deeper in our memories. I really miss being here, so the thoughts surrounding it are stronger."_

_"How much further do you think I have to go to find you?" Eragon asked._

_"That depends on you," she said. "I think you're doing a fantastic job, but others probably don't."_

_"I figured after the last few places I've been."_

_"Sorry you had to see those," she admitted. "Some thoughts aren't meant to be shared. How long have you been in here?"_

_Eragon shook his head, "I can't keep track. It seems like it's been hours, days even… but I can't say for sure. You're the seventh Mariah I've met I think."_

_"I can't say for sure, but there are probably hundreds of us. You know how you can feel like you're drowning in your own dreams sometimes? That's what happens when the different personas collide with one another. It gets cramped sometimes and we have to destroy one version to make room for another. I'm embedded deep enough where I don't usually have to worry about that. So, I think you must be getting close to the end. You're going through pretty fast. You must have fallen at some point."_

_"Before the last time, yes."_

_"That's why; you probably saved so much time doing that."_

_"It hurt, still does," he admitted._

_Mariah smiled, "It's kind of supposed to." She paused, "Do you have any questions for me?"_

_He shook his head, then stopped, "Can you tell me… how much of this is real?"_

_"It's all real, in some form or another. The only things that are certain are the solid memories from the past, like this place. Maybe it's not a particular day in our life, but it seems to be a collection of the perfect moments from Carvahall. If there was one perfect day, this would be it. So, all the parts of it are real, some are just accentuated and thrown together to make it. Does that answer your question?"_

_"I think so," he said._

_She stood up, "Good. You should keep going. Stopping too long will make it more difficult."_

_"Thank you."_

_"Don't mention it," she said, "Good luck Eragon. No matter what, you need to make it out safely."_

_"Of course. How do I leave?"_

_"Follow the road out of town, eventually it will fade like all the others."_

_Eragon stood up, stretching a bit and started out of Carvahall. He slowed a bit and looked toward Horst's house next to his blacksmith shop. Elain was pulling her pie from the oven. Smiling, he kept walking, until he saw Roran sneaking behind a building to hug Katrina. His feet quit moving upon seeing his cousin, realizing how much he missed him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd even seen Katrina either. When he turned his eyes back to the road, Eragon realize that night had almost started falling. "Stopping too long will make it more difficult," he repeated to himself. "She wasn't kidding." Quickly, he trotted out of town, forcing himself to look straight until he was sure it was gone._

_"A little farther," he promised himself. Being back in Carvahall was revitalizing and he felt happier again after being back there. Sad that he couldn't return, but glad he wasn't the only one who missed it, Eragon continued. He started humming to himself quietly and walking through the void. It was getting more comfortable to walk around in the darkness and easier to accept what was happening and letting the pieces fall where they may._

_"Eragon?"_

_As he turned around, color erupted around him. The large sunset took up nearly the entire sky. Stars were just appearing as the sun fell below the horizon and there weren't any clouds to distract from the view. The grass was turning a bronzy gold color as the light hit it. He was standing on a hill overlooking endless plains._

_Looking over, he saw someone laying in the grass in a white dress. She was leaning on one arm to sit up, staring at him. There weren't any dark circles under her eyes this time. He walked over to the most familiar Mariah he'd seen yet and sat down beside her._

_"You won't believe the day I've had."_

_She smiled and chuckled, "Try me."_

_He looked over and started talking about every encounter with her he'd had inside her mind, letting go of everything else and just feeling relieved that it was over. By the time he'd finished speaking, the sun was almost completely set._

_"It sounds like it was fun." Mariah said._

_"Parts of it, yes, others… definitely not. But now it's over."_

_"What makes you say that?"_

_"You are the one I'm bringing back."_

_She blinked, "Why?"_

_He stared at her, "Because you're my version of Mariah, the one who fell in here. I know you are."_

_"Did it ever occur to you that I don't want to leave?"_

_Eragon sat there, blinking. "No."_

_"Lay down," she said, smiling. When he hesitated, she took his hand. "Lay down." Mariah vanished in the tall gold grass and he leaned back beside her. "Look up at the sky and tell me what you see."_

_He turned his eyes upward and stared at the speckles of silver lighting up the sky. "Stars."_

_"Try connecting them together and forming pictures," she said. "See those ones there?" Mariah moved closer to him and pointed, "If you put those ones together, they look like a dragon." She smiled and hummed._

_Eragon stayed beside her, holding her hand and drawing lines between the stars in the sky. Lying there in the silence, Eragon felt peaceful and completely at ease. It was the first time in a long time that he felt that way. Relaxed in the moonlit grass beside her, he didn't worry about anything. For the moment, there was no war, no dying. Mariah was lying beside him alive and well. There was nothing but them and the night sky. Eventually, she set her head on his shoulder and fell asleep. He watched her for a long time, simply waiting._

_The stars finally began to fade against the rising sun. Mariah woke to the sunrise and smiled at him brightly. "Morning." She said, sitting up, still holding his hand. Eragon sat up in the grass with her, watching her face. "Stay here… with me. Nothing bad ever happens here… no one dies. There aren't any tears… we can just stay here, forever. It can just be us, please? You like it here don't you?"_

_He watched her face and looked down at her hand in his. Pulling his right up as well, he held her hand between his. "I want to stay with you Mariah, but we can't stay here like this. What about your brother? Andrar? Murtagh even? You can't leave them behind."_

_"They can stay too," she said, turning her head towards the top of the hill where dozens of familiar faces were standing together, smiling and waiting for them. In the front were Mark, Arya and Murtagh, behind them, lifting their heads were Andrar and Saphira. "Everyone can be together." As Mark stepped aside, Roran and Garrow moved forward, followed by Brom. Mariah turned her face back towards him, "See? It's perfect."_

_"No… it's not," he insisted. "You're just dreaming Mariah… I can't stay. And I want you to come with me. If you don't I'm going to miss you."_

_She stared at him, the others fading away slowly. "I'm dreaming?"_

_"I think so. Durza attacked you and you're asleep." He nearly jumped as fires started up around them. "You need to wake up. If you don't wake up, you… you might die. Come with me… please?"_

_"Come with you?" Mariah asked. The flames started circling them, burning away what was remaining of the sunrise landscape._

_Eragon nodded, "Yes. We need to go now; otherwise we won't ever be able to." He stood and looked down at her._

_"I… I can't leave. Durza said I can't."_

_"I'm saying you can. You're coming with me, right now." He insisted, bending down and picking her up. Mariah blinked at him but didn't resist. Eragon turned and hurriedly carried her out of the circling fire before it caught them._

_The flames vanished. He held his breath as he looked down, staring into Mariah's eyes. She was still there. Every time before now she had disappeared with the world she was a part of. He set her down gently, her bare feet landing on the void silently. The darkness seemed to shimmer for a moment before becoming brighter. Eventually it was radiating colors he didn't realize even existed._

_He heard footsteps behind her and lifted his head. Standing together were a small child, a teenage girl, a crying sister, a young woman who stared at him with intense hatred, a lady in an elegant dress, and a warrior goddess. All of them, in one form or another smiled at him and touched the one in the white sundress gently, each vanishing in a small burst of colored light. When the last one disappeared, he looked down at Mariah. She lifted her eyes and smiled at him. "I'm ready to go now Eragon."_

_Holding her hands, he smiled. "Wake up."_

When he opened his eyes, he saw Mark staring at him with distaste. Looking over, he realized he was using half of Mariah's pillow and holding her hand. He must have fallen asleep. Eragon blinked and looked at her more closely. She seemed to be breathing easier and some of the color had returned to her face. As he watched, she flicked her eyes open, taking in a deep breath.

Mark's lips parted and he moved to her side immediately, "Mariah… you're alright."

She sat up and smiled at him gently, "I'm fine." She assured him, hugging him back as he cried against her shoulder.

"I thought you were gone, for sure… there was no waking you."

"It's alright Mark," she promised her brother, pushing him away slightly and wiping at his face. "You can stop worrying."

He shook his head, "I won't ever stop worrying about you. Know that now."

"Of course."

Mark turned to Eragon, sitting in the chair beside them, just staring at Mariah. "Eragon… thank you… so much. You don't even know how much I owe you."

"No… its okay Mark, I understand. Really, there's no need to thank me. The fact that Mariah's okay is enough for me." He said, still looking at her

She smiled at him. "Thank you." She managed before she broke into tears, sobbing.

Eragon's eyes widened a bit and he instantly went to her, hugging her tightly, "Don't cry. It's alright. You don't ever have to thank me Mariah."

Mark stared at them for a moment and shook his head, turning his head away and wiping his face again, smiling. He stood up and walked to the door, opening it and nodding to Murtagh, Angela and Arya. They stared at him, surprised and moved past him, into the room.

Pulling away from her when he heard them walk in, he smiled a bit. He watched as her face brightened and she spoke with the others. Awake, he couldn't remember everything as vividly as he knew it really had been, but he wasn't about to forget any of it he did recall.

* * *

Draumr Slytha – Dream Sleep

So, how'd you like the first chapter of Part II?

It took me a whole day to write, but it's all mine. This is what I want to write, but I might have to revert back to the book a little bit more sometimes... this took a lot out of me.

Don't expect another chapter before next week. I wanted to work this out and this is what happened, I wrote the whole beginning in a day. It happens sometimes. You guys are so lucky, so much in just a few short days, I'm spoiling you.

Shipping: I'm going to start addressing it more now that I've had a couple people say something about it. I just read a review that threw out AryaxMark... and laughed. You guys, some times... (runs and hides future material) ...need to stop reading into all my random ideas! I shall now point at you accusingly and change plot devices as a result of your meddling! Kidding... kidding... kinda. As a sucker for good endings, I always feel like every character should get their fair share of hugs and kisses. I don't try and pair up every character, but I do try to pair most of them to the best of my abilities. I will take into consideration reader's interests, but I will not be holding a poll to see which character you guys want with who... if you do want to add a little (btw ExM) or (MxM) at the end of your review I will smirk and put it in my memory for later use though.

Carpe Noctem - Seize The Night - for it is yours alone to do with what you will, but always make it full of colorful and fantastic dreams.

With Love, As Always,

Mariah


	3. Ch 43: Shadeslayer

**Chapter Forty-Three: Shadeslayer**

Mariah paused on her way up the stairs to look over the massive field of Farthen Dûr below, scattered with the bodies of Urgals and her comrades. She brushed her hair away from her eyes and sighed. After coming so near death she felt ethereal. Waking up from the void was like drowning underwater, then realizing afterward that you could breathe. The day before, after breaking out of the spell, she had spent an hour with her brother trying to describe what had happened to no avail. Eragon seemed to be the only one who had any idea what it had been like. Arya had stood silently in the corner as she spoke while Murtagh threw out questions about anything that seemed confusing. There wasn't much she did remember about being asleep, so there hadn't been much to tell. Pushing her thoughts away, she continued climbing the staircase. They were holding a meeting in Ajihad's study and she was going to be late if she waited any longer. Reaching the head of the stairs, she saw Eragon and smiled.

"I was wondering when you were going to show up," he admitted, waiting for her to step next to him before he walked her to the door. Holding it open for her, they stepped inside and saw Ajihad and Nasuada in a heated argument, yelling at one another.

"I am still alive father; there is no reason for you to be shouting at me so!"

Ajihad slammed his fist onto his desk, successfully tossing an ink bottle into the air. He didn't so much as blink as it broke open on the ground, spraying everywhere. "You disobeyed my direct orders Nasuada, you were to evacuate with everyone else!"

"Every able bodied person was needed to fight. So I stayed and fought. Mariah is younger than me and she stayed to fight," she pointed at the girl when she saw her standing there.

"She is a Rider. You should have listened to me when I told you to remain away from the battle." Ajihad snapped. "You trained with a bow for your own protection, not to risk your life in war!"

They fell silent and stared at one another for a long moment. When it was apparent the argument was over, neither side actually having won, Nasuada headed for the door. The Riders stepped aside but she paused in front of Mariah and looked at her. "You may not have known it at the time Mariah, but you saved my life on the battlefield. I am glad to see you alive and well, when I heard of your injuries I worried I would never have the chance to thank you. I owe you a debt that cannot be repaid."

Mariah stared at her for a long moment, trying to recall any incident of seeing her face on the battlefield. Ajihad had mentioned a bow, and now that she was thinking of it, she had protected a group of archers at one point during the fighting. Trying to recall the memory, she nodded slowly. "I believe I remember the incident, however you owe me nothing Nasuada. Your safety is thanks enough."

The older girl smiled and inclined her head, opening the door and brushing past Murtagh as he entered. He blinked and shrugged, stepping in and looking around. "I missed something."

"You don't need to worry about it." Ajihad insisted, looking over his maps again. "Though we are waiting on your brother, Mariah, I'm afraid we cannot stall any longer. There are still Urgals that need to be extinguished from the tunnels surrounding Farthen Dûr. I am going to personally lead a group of warriors to kill the rest of them. The Twins shall be accompanying me. Their magic abilities will be invaluable."

"Ajihad, if I may," Murtagh said, looking at him. When the man nodded, he continued, "I would like to assist you in any way possible. I'm good with my blade and believe coming with you would prove helpful." Over the past few days, it was apparent that Murtagh was quickly rising in favor with everyone. Despite his lineage and background, there wasn't really enough time for anyone to take it into consideration with so much work to be done.

Mariah watched Ajihad contemplate the idea before nodding again, "I believe you would be helpful. You may accompany us." His gaze turned towards Mariah and Eragon. "I would also appreciate it if one of you came as well. A Rider might be needed, even if only as a fast messenger between me and here at the Varden."

Before Mariah could speak, Eragon nodded. "Of course. Saphira and I would be-"

She stepped on his foot and grabbed his arm, turning him towards her. Looking up at him, she scowled, _your back is barely healed and you're going to run off and fight some more. Have you completely lost your mind?_

_Well you can't go with them, you nearly died._

_I'm better off than you are right now. You make one wrong move and you're going to collapse._

He bit his tongue and frowned at her.

_I know I'm right. You walk around wincing in pain. Your back hurts so badly you can barely stand at times. I'm going to go. It's not that dangerous, there aren't many of them left. We'll have the upper hand and Andrar is more than a match for small groups of them. Stay here and rest, you deserve that much._

"Shadeslayer?"

Mariah winced slightly at the name, everyone kept calling him that now. Since she woke up, no one referred to him as Eragon anymore. He was always Shadeslayer or Argetlam. She hadn't been awake to witness it, but Mark had insisted it was impressive and that he deserved the title. Still, it bothered her and she refused to call him that.

"Actually, I would like to come. I've been feeling restless and I believe assisting you would be good for both Andrar and me." Mariah said.

Ajihad watched her for a moment before nodding, "Very well then. Tomorrow morning we're to leave at dawn. Don't be late."

The doors closed behind her and she sighed, feeling Eragon staring at her. Walking out ahead of both the boys, she turned around and folded her arms. "If you have something to say, say it."

Murtagh folded his arms back, huffing, "It's not a good idea."

"Do you have a better one?"

"Let Eragon go instead."

"No," Mariah said. "He needs to heal properly before running off and throwing himself in more danger."

The blond sighed, "I really don't know what you're getting so worked up about, honestly. It's not that bad."

She dropped her arms and stared at him, "You lie so much lately I can barely tell when you're being honest. If you truly believe that you're healed enough to go gallivanting about with Murtagh, killing Urgals, then you can go." He grinned but stopped when Mariah continued, "But only if you can run up all the stairs faster than I can."

Eragon scowled at her. Even on his best day he wasn't anywhere near faster than her. In a normal footrace of a mile, she would beat him by a good minute. Up that many stairs, there was no way he could out run her. Mulling it over, he thought about the fact that he had more stamina than her. "Fine."

Mariah blinked at him, surprised. "You're going to lose, you know that, right? I purposely chose a footrace because I know I can beat you every time."

"There's a first time for everything."

"I'll give you a head start then," she pointed to the stairs, "Start running." He sprinted off without warning and she looked at Murtagh, shaking her head. He just stared at her, clearly annoyed with the entire ordeal. "Stop that, we'll be back in just a minute." Mariah turned and raced up the stairs, making it to the next landing and stopping. She sighed and walked over to Eragon, "I told you… you can't go."

He was leaning against the wall, breathing heavily, gritting his teeth as his back throbbed.

"Let's get you back to Angela, she'll know how to help."

"You did what?" Mark asked her, blinking, unsaddling Aluora – he'd been out on the battlefield, still trying to find anyone alive, he hadn't made it back in time for the meeting.

Murtagh said, walking past them, "She told Ajihad that she would come along and help hunt the stray Urgals in the tunnels." His voice conveyed his annoyance, which was quickly rising to Mark's level.

"No," he insisted, shaking his head. "You're not going anywhere. Especially not hunting for Urgals."

"Too late, I already said I would go."

Mark huffed, "You didn't clear it with me first though, did you?"

"Of course not, you would have said no. You're not in charge of me anyways Marcus, so stop it. Besides, we all know you drained yourself during that battle and then healing me right afterward, so there's nothing you can do. You wouldn't be able to keep up with us anyways, so don't even try to come with tomorrow." She turned and walked over to Eragon and Angela. "Can he move?"

The curly haired witch nodded, "He should be fine now. No more races though, alright?" She stood up and walked away swiftly with Solembum padding along behind her.

Mariah stared down at Eragon and sighed, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tried racing you, but you can't go after Urgals right now in your condition." She held her hand out to him and smiled a bit. He took her hand and blinked when she pulled him up and away quickly. As soon as she had escaped her brother's sights, she slowed back down. Walking just ahead of Eragon, she made the way back to their new rooms. Since the dragonhold was impossible to reach now, due to Saphira and Arya shattering the Star Sapphire floor, they had been given new quarters close to the ground floor.

Ducking into her room, she sat down in front of the window and sighed. "Eragon I know you don't want me to go because you think I'm going to get hurt again, but I'm not. I won't get hurt like last time."

"It's more than that, you just woke up yesterday. It's important for you to rest."

"I was asleep the whole time, you are in far worse condition than I am," she insisted, looking at him. "That wound should have killed you. It still might if you continually stop allowing yourself to rest."

He sat down in a chair, leaning back, "I can't sit and do nothing. It agitates me to no end when the only thing I can do is think. All I ponder is death and how unfair war is, how useless fighting and killing is. The only way to stop it is to do something; it's just how I am."

"Then do something that doesn't require you to hurt yourself anymore alright? I am concerned about your safety."

"You should be concerned about your own safety tomorrow," he insisted, huffing. "I won't be able to do anything to help you. You're going to be too far away. If you get hurt-"

"What can you do about it now?" She asked, "I'm going and without you. I'll be fine. Stop thinking about it, there's no use in it. Believe that I'll be fine and I will be, alright?" Mariah walked over and stood in front of him. "You have done far more than enough for me in the past few days. I owe you my life, twice now."

"Then don't go," he said, looking at her. "You owe me your life; consider the debt paid by staying."

"You know I can't. But will you accept me coming back alive payment enough?"

Eragon shook his head, "Then you'll owe me for all the worry and suffering I had to bear thinking about you getting hurt while I was unable to do anything."

She smiled a bit, "I'm not winning this argument, am I?"

"No, you won't."

Mariah sat down in front of him and folded her hands in her lap, "Then can we stop? I don't want to argue with you the rest of the day, especially when I'm leaving in the morning."

"Alright, that's fair enough," he nodded.

She smiled a bit and leaned up against the wall, sitting on the floor and closing her eyes. Not worrying about tomorrow was her main goal for the rest of the day and she needed to rest and regain her strength before heading out in the morning. With her eyes closed, she felt Eragon move and sit down beside her. His arm brushed against hers and she smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"We never talk enough anymore," she admitted. "I miss not having to watch what I say in front of others, or simply being in someone else's presence without feeling the need to speak."

"Me too," Eragon agreed. "Mariah… what do you remember?"

"What do you mean?" She asked, looking up at him.

He thought about it for a moment and decided to continue, "When you were under that spell."

"Everything seems blurry… I can't separate any of it, really. All I truly remember is that you were there, trying to convince me to wake up."

"Huh… and before that, what's the last thing you remember?"

"Before all the blurry dreams, I can only recall seeing you rushing to my aid. Which, might I add, was extremely foolish of you. You should know better than to take on a Shade, especially after fighting Urgals and Kull for hours on end."

"You were in trouble, that's all I could think about."

"Well, you don't see me running to your side every time you get hurt, do you?"

Eragon thought about it, "Actually, yes. You do as a matter a fact."

She closed her eyes, sighing, "I didn't actually mean it like that."

"But you do, I can't do the same?"

"No, you can't," she insisted with a light chuckle.

"Alright."

Mariah rested her head against his shoulder and remained silent. She smiled when he reciprocated the silence by only taking her hand, drawing light circles on the back slowly. Though she couldn't remember what happened exactly, something told her it had impacted him more than he cared to admit. Having only been awake for a day and a half now, Eragon hadn't left her side for more than twenty minutes at a time. He always seemed to be nearby. It was comforting, but strange all the same. They hadn't spent so much time together like this since Carvahall, Teirm at the very least. Every day had consisted of running and fighting and escaping the Empire's detection. Something had definitely happened while she'd been asleep.

However, she dared not break the silence to ask, knowing tomorrow morning she'd be leaving him behind. _To keep him safe,_ she insisted to herself. _We leave him to keep him safe._

After a while, Eragon looked down and saw her eyes closed. "Mariah?" He asked lightly. When she didn't respond, he had to assume she'd fallen asleep. He didn't want to wake her, but knew she wouldn't be comfortable against the wall all night. Any other day he would have picked her up and carried her, but he knew his back wouldn't allow it. "Mariah," he said, shaking her gently. She blinked a few times, rubbing her eyes.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"It's alright, just get to bed, okay?"

Mariah nodded, standing and helping him to his feet. She yawned and flopped in her bed. Eragon chuckled a bit and pulled the blanket over her. She hummed quietly and fell back asleep. He smiled and sat in the chair beside her, watching her until he grew tired as well.

_Darling, we need to depart soon, please wake._ Andrar roused her from his spot against Saphira, getting up and stretching his wings, yawning with a dull roar.

Mariah flicked open her eyes and found herself laying in her bed. Sitting up, she looked over to find Eragon passed out in a nearby chair, his jaw slack as he slept. She smiled, collecting her travel bag and sword. After pulling on her boots and vambraces, she walked over to him. "Eragon." She whispered. It was still black outside and she didn't really want to wake him. "I'll be back soon." Brushing his hair away from his eyes, she walked out of her room.

Heading down the staircase, she ran into Murtagh who was busy trying to tie his sword to his belt and still walk downstairs at the same time. It wasn't working out too well, especially not with him yawning.

"Just stop, tie it, and regain your ground afterward," Mariah insisted, striding down past him.

He yawned again, "Easy for you to say, you seem to wake up early all the time anyways."

"I never used to," she admitted, reaching the ground floor and going to her dragon. "I used to be able to sleep half the day without worrying about anything." Andrar snorted and tossed his head, shaking his head at her. She tied her bag to his saddle and walked with Murtagh to the gates of Tronjheim where Ajihad was waiting for them.

"Eragon are you awake?" Mark knocked on his door before opening it, looking inside and finding his room empty. "Of course." He shook his head and walked to Mariah's room, pushing the door open farther, as it was already ajar. Walking over to the boy, he sighed and hit his shoulder a bit, "Get up. I'm going down to the battlefield and I think you should come with me today."

Rubbing his eyes free of sleep, Eragon stood up slowly. "It's morning already?"

Mark was at the door, "She already left. It's after dawn, come on." He walked down the hall and to his room, waiting for the boy to get ready.

It had been three days since the battle, and the funeral pyres had to be lit every hour to keep them from getting too big. Mark led the way down the steps, leaving Aluora in her stables for the day, so Eragon could keep up. He had a feeling Eragon would find some sort of solace in seeing the sickening amounts of death and decay.

"Here we are," he said, looking at the Rider.

Eragon looked around, stepping foot on the battle field. He'd wanted to see the aftermath, but until now couldn't bring himself to look upon it. There was nothing here, save the uncomfortable presence of death and decay. The heroic songs he'd learned growing up sang of glory and greatness, but this was something entirely different.

Watching the boy's face, Mark thought about how much he'd changed. Until now, he hadn't ever given it much thought. Only a few short months ago, the Eragon he knew in Carvahall would have been destroyed by the brutal war that had erupted here between the dwarves, humans and Urgals. Now, he just seemed numb.

"I still remember the first time I killed someone," Mark told him, folding his arms across his chest. He avoided Eragon's gaze as he spoke, "It wasn't just a few months ago… like you or Mariah. I was eleven. She doesn't even know about it. Brom and I were traveling back from Therinsford, it had been a weeklong trip. A small group of thieves attacked us in the dead of night while we were camping. Now that I think about it, Brom had everything completely under control. I was just good enough with a sword where I could fight off most attacks and when they came after me, insisting there be no witnesses, I stabbed him through the heart. The blood spurted from his chest onto my face, clothes and hands, then he dropped dead in front of me." He looked up at Eragon who was simply staring at him. "The ground beneath your feet is soaked with blood… so much so that it's seeping into your boots." Mark said, "Am I right?"

Looking down and lifting one of his legs, Eragon saw the red-black color of blood staining the soles of his feet. "I don't understand why…" he trailed off.

"What Eragon?"

"If life has no meaning, why do we fight one another? I saw men getting ripped apart by Kull… so many died during that one battle…"

"You don't see the point." Eragon shook his head and Mark continued, "Then why did you fight?"

He paused, trying to figure it out exactly; when he failed he looked back at the older man and asked the same, "Why do you fight?"

"No. I asked you first Eragon… why do you fight?"

The blond took a while to think of a proper answer. "I suppose… if any honor exists in war… it's fighting to protect others from harm."

"It's the only good reason to fight. We fight to protect those we care about; in that moment our lives are worth risking in order to save them. Those who can't protect themselves rely on us to shield them. I murdered a man to protect my grandfather's life when I was only eleven. Anyone will kill if they are put in a position where something precious is in danger." Mark fell silent after that and continued picking his way through the battlefield, searching for anyone that still might be breathing.

The two boys spent the next few days together on the field, slowly coming to the realization that there were no other soldiers to save. Mark did his best to keep his and Eragon's minds away from Mairah, trying not to let either of them worry about her while she way away. Saphira lifted her head and looked toward Tronjheim, causing Eragon and Mark's attention to follow her gaze. They were at the edge of the battle site when they saw Jörmundur – Ajihad's second in command – hurrying toward them. When he came near, Jörmundur bowed to Eragon, a gesture he had been receiving increasingly since the battle.

"I'm glad I found you in time." He clutched a parchment note in one hand. "Ajihad is returning, and he wants you to be there when he arrives. The others are already waiting for him by Tronjheim's west gate. We'll have to hurry to get there in time."

"Lead the way," Mark said, heading toward the gate with him.

Eragon followed, keeping a hand on Saphira. It was three days since Mariah and Murtagh had departed with Ajihad to hunt the Urgals. As they rounded Tronjheim, a small group became visible in the pool of lantern light before the timber gate. Among them were Orik – the dwarf shifting impatiently on his stout legs – and Arya. The white bandage around her upper arm gleamed in the darkness, reflecting a faint highlight onto the bottom of her hair. She looked towards them, green eyes flashing, then continued watching for Aijhad.

They stopped nearby Orik and looked out at the empty land that surrounded Tronjheim, extending to Farthen Dûr's base five miles away in each direction. "Where will Ajihad come from?" asked Eragon.

Orik pointed at a cluster of lanterns staked around a large tunnel opening a couple of miles away. "He should be here soon."

Eragon answered comments directed at him, but otherwise stayed quiet, only talking with Saphira if he felt the need. Mark leaned against the wall of the gate, staring at the end of the tunnel, nearly unblinking for half an hour. No one spoke to him, it was clear he wasn't in a mood to talk.

Finally, there was a flicker of motion in the distant tunnel. A group of ten men climbed out onto the ground, then turned and helped up as many dwarves. One of the men – Ajihad supposedly – raised a hand, and the warriors assembled behind him in two straight lines. They waited a moment, as if hesitating in their march.

Mark tensed, realizing what was wrong, shifting his weight onto both feet and squinting into the darkness. Before it happened, he was bounding toward the tunnel. He'd taken five steps when a dragon roar erupted from the passageway. A moment later, the tunnel behind the soldiers swarmed with a flurry of activity as more figures jumped out.

"Urgals!" Eragon cried, leaping onto Saphira before she took flight. He silently cursed himself for leaving Zar'roc in his room. No one was expecting an attack now, not since the Urgal army had been driven away.

Mark's heart pounded in his chest, watching as the Urgals fell on the rear of Aijhad's warriors. He couldn't see Mariah or Andrar. The monsters had the advantage of surprise and quickly cut down four men, forcing the rest of the warriors, men and dwarves alike, to cluster around Aijhad in an attempt to protect him. Swords and axes clashed as the groups pressed together. Still no dragon. Light flashed from one of the Twins, and an Urgal fell, clutching the stump of his severed arm.

For a minute, it seemed the defenders would be able to resist the Urgals, but then a swirl of motion disturbed the air, like a faint band of mist wrapping itself around the combatants. When it cleared, only four warriors were standing: Ajihad, the Twins and Murtagh. He could feel his heart crushing his chest at the absence of his sister. The Urgals converged on them, blocking Mark's view as he rushed towards them. Arya had caught up to him now, her speed matching his own pace. She may have been an elf, but his adrenaline was coursing through him like blood.

Saphira rushed overhead, but before she could read them, the knot of Urgals streamed back to the tunnel and scrambled underground, leaving only prone forms behind. Saphira finally landed and Eragon vaulted off her back, looking over those left. He slowed down, watching Eragon kneel beside Ajihad's rent body. His torso was ripped open, his chest plate torn apart. Blood pounding in his ears, he couldn't hear a word of what he was speaking and only noted that when the older man closed his eyes, they would never open again.

The seconds he spent looking at Ajihad were fleeting, as he started searching the rest of the bodies for his sister. He stopped when he looked at the face of the last one and swiveled back to Eragon. "She's not here."

"What?"

Mark looked again, "Neither is Murtagh." Without another word he turned toward the gaping hole under the earth and jumped down. "Arya! I need you!" He called back, running down the tunnel.

She hesitated for a moment, looking at Eragon.

"Please go." He said, staring up at her, knowing he had no chance of catching up to Mark.

"Wiol ono." For you. She said, bounding forward and diving after Mark, her sword flashing in her hand, leaving Eragon to keep vigil by Ajihad. Arya quickly caught up to Mark. He had a light hovering beside him as he ran. She stared at the man, wondering how he was managing to run so quickly. Falling into stride with him, she remained silent.

"I intend to catch and kill them all. Know that now," he said, keeping one hand on his sword to keep it from banging against his leg as he ran. The Urgals were ahead of them, he could hear grumbles and their thundering footsteps down the passage ahead of them. No matter how fast he ran though, they eluded his sight. When he started lacking the energy to keep running, he drew it from the emerald ring around his finger, revitalizing himself to keep going for a few more hours.

"Mark!" Arya shouted, grabbing his arm.

He skidded and fell to the ground, digging his heels in to the dirt and rock to try and keep himself from falling over the edge. They path of the tunnel had curved suddenly upon their entering an enormous cavern. He let his head hit the ground as he panted, able to feel his left foot hanging over the edge. If Arya had not stopped him when she did, he would be falling into that bottomless pit. Returning to his feet, he looked over the edge.

"Are these familiar to you?"

Flicking his blue eyes towards Arya, he felt sick. He strode over to her and took the red piece of cloth from her fingers. The edge was embroidered with gold and stained with blood. It was a headband he recalled giving his sister for her birthday the year prior. She only ever wore it when he wasn't with her, as a good luck charm. The sight of it in his hands bloodied and torn made his stomach flip upside down.

Arya bent down, picking a few more items up. "These are Murtagh's, yes?"

Mark looked towards the leather gauntlets and nodded. Then his eyes caught the purple cloth. "That's a piece of the Twins' clothing."

"Indeed… the Urgals must have stolen their armor and weapons…"

He caught her looking towards the chasm below and he winced, walking to the edge. A crunching sound came from under his boot and he picked it up, inspecting the item - an orange dragon scale. Leaning forward and looking straight down, he saw nothing but blackness. Mark flicked his hand downward, shooting the ball of light down until it vanished from sight. He still couldn't see the bottom.

Pulling out a dagger, he held it so he could see a reflection in the light and concentrated on Mariah. "Draumr kόpa." The only reflection he saw was his own as darkness swirled over the surface of his knife, nothing but the shadowy abyss below. Sitting on the ground he moaned, covering his face as the realization hit him.

Arya stood there for a moment, shifting her weight from her left foot to her right before kneeling in front of Mark. "I… I'm sorry… for your sister. I know she meant so much to you." Silence overtook them for a few moments. Standing slowly, she collected what was left of the clothing scattered around the edge of the pit and returned to Mark. "We should return to the Varden and inform them of what has transpired."

Dragging himself to his feet, he clenched the headband in his hand and nodded. Arya walked back towards the tunnel they had entered from and led the way back, trying her best not to acknowledge the quiet sobbing coming from the man behind her.

* * *

I had to post it... I said I wouldn't until next week, but I had to. I can't stand not knowing what you guys think about it... and I don't know where to take it at the moment. Plus I have some free time on my hands lately and want to write as much as I can. All your feedback is so helpful. The next chapter will probably be up tomorrow evening.

What do you think about Mark? I don't believe I've asked this question before, but I would like to. Watch him a little more closely than you probably have been, I'm trying to iron out his character a bit. He's getting a little more time in the hot seat lately because of it, and I like what he's turning into. The conversation he had with Eragon felt much needed for their relationship.

"I do not love the bright sword for it's sharpness, nor the arrow for it's swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend." - J.R.R Tolkien

With Love, As Always,

Mariah


	4. Ch 44: Promises

**Chapter Forty-Four: Promises**

"Gone?" Eragon stared at him, "What do you mean gone?" Mark rubbed his face, trying to keep himself together, letting Arya tell the Rider what had happened. The boy stared at him now, "Mark, what does she mean gone?"

He swore and slammed his fist against the wall, "She means my little sister is dead, Eragon. And I let it happen…"

Looking down, Eragon couldn't keep his thoughts together. It hadn't been all Mark's fault, he'd watched as the Urgals attacked. He should have fought harder to make her stay. There must have been something he could have done to stop her.

"Eragon."

He turned his eyes back up at Mark, his vision blurry with tears, who was now standing in front of him.

Gripping the boy's shoulders he looked him in the eyes, "This is not your fault. Listen to me; she is not your responsibility. Don't blame yourself, you did nothing wrong. You saved her, but that's not your job, it's mine. I failed to protect her when I should have."

Nodding, he forced Mark to accept his response and let him go, but inside he didn't care. It had been his fault, he was the other Rider, and it was his responsibility too. Less than a week ago he'd protected the Varden, killed a Shade and woke her from a sleeping spell, but he couldn't save his best friend. Saphira brushed against his mind to comfort him, but the only emotion she successfully transmitted was sorrow.

"It's late… you should sleep," Mark said. "And tomorrow we have to deal with Ajihad's death." He walked out of Eragon's room, aware of Arya following and shutting the door behind them. Pausing, he turned to look at her, speaking quietly to avoid anyone's wandering ear. "Arya Dröttningu, I would like to thank you for all your assistance today."

"Don't speak of it, you would have done the same for me, I am sure."

Mark inclined his head, "Of course." He watched her turn and walk down the hallway until she rounded a corner and went from his sight. Gripping his sister's headband in one hand, wrapped around the dragon scale, he walked to his room, placing a locking charm on the door behind him. Looking over the scale he sighed and set it down on the table nearby. Mark flopped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, twisting the cloth between his fingers, recalling the last time he saw his sister.

_She'd been angry with him for trying to stop her, and in turn he'd let it get out of hand. Never did he think that they wouldn't ever speak again. Watching her leave with Eragon that last evening had made him feel angry. Eragon should have been going, not her. It hadn't been the boy's fault though, he'd done enough lately. Mark knew he wouldn't be able to go, but a part of him still wanted him to anyway, to spare his sister the trouble. And himself the worry. After unsaddling Aluora the rest of the way, he'd turned to Murtagh. The words between them since they'd met had been harsh and unforgivable at times, however once they found there was nothing else to yell about, they'd called a truce. However, the next statement stopped them both in their tracks._

"_Swear to me that you'll do everything you can to protect her." It hadn't really been a question, but a request._

_In turn, Murtagh had nodded – hesitantly. "May I ask why?"_

"_Because right now I can't. You're going with her, please protect her for me."_

_He'd watched Mark for a minute, as if thinking hard about his next words, "__Eka weohnata halda onr systir __trú."_

"_You shouldn't have done that…" Mark admitted, walking past him, back toward their rooms on the ground floor of Tronjheim. _

And now, they were both dead. He sighed and closed his eyes, "You better have protected her like you said you would… if not, when I die I'm going to make your afterlife hell." He rolled over and tried his best to fall asleep.

* * *

She didn't know how long it'd been since Tronjheim had been in her sights. Her eyes refocused in the dimly lit room, there were only two torches lighting up the cavernous space. The floor was damp with slime and blood, the smell of decaying flesh filling her nose. Mariah lifted her lips up into a snarl, spitting into the face of one of the Twins standing in front of her. Around her wrists and ankles were rings of purple light, binding her magic and sapping energy out of her body at an alarming rate. He sneered back at her, wiping his face and stepping closer to her, "You can't even imagine what we've in store for you… causing trouble for us from the start."

"Your best is still nothing compared to what I'll do when I've broken free." She insisted, her attention focused on trying to find Andrar. Mariah remembered the Urgals wrapping glowing chains around his snout to keep him from biting or breathing fire first, then they knocked him over the head with their clubs until he was unconscious. She'd been shouting the entire time, trying to get to him without any success.

They both let out a hollow laugh, "I don't think you realize how futile your struggling is… or how empty your threats are. Galbatorix will own you before the day is out."

Her eyes snapped back to them, words didn't seem to form in her mouth as she tried to contemplate what they'd just said.

"Yes, you heard right." One of them nodded. "Come along now. Since you've woken up, it's time to go." When she refused, he bellowed in her face, "Move girl!" A matching purple rope appeared between his fingers and he pulled her along after him, his twin following behind her. They dragged her up a winding staircase, leaving her more exhausted with every step. Reaching the top, she blinked slowly at a massive throne room.

With her ragged clothes and cold wet blood dripping down her skin, it was freezing. There was no light coming through the heavy drapes covering the windows. She stumbled toward the middle of the room as the Twins shoved her. She turned back to them, snarling until she heard a thunderous growl from behind her. Spinning in place, Mariah looked at the massive black dragon in front of her. Its mouth opened slightly, teeth as large as her entire body slowly becoming more visible. Letting out a snort, forcing her to fall backwards with eyes fixated on the creature, it pulled its head backwards and then snapped forward, scales brushing her leg as he let out a deafening roar.

The purple magic around her wrists faded as the last of her energy seeped away. Slowly, she crawled backwards, staring at Shruiken, praying this wasn't going to be the day she died. Finally, her back hit the wall and she just sat there, too frightened to move.

"Stand up, child, before I make you." A man said, coming through door beside her and walking down the center of the room. Mariah stood carefully, using the wall behind her for support. He climbed the steps to the throne and spun around, sitting in the chair with his cloak flaring around his ankles. "Welcome to Urû'baen."

Her eyes stared unblinking at the man in front of her. Under his cloak, looking to be of the same substance as dragon wing membrane, were broad shoulders. His long and lean face covered by a close-cropped black beard and mustache and framed by shoulder-length black hair. His dark eyes were shadowed by his brow; the bladelike nose dropping straight down his face to his wide and thin mouth. For someone so old, he appeared no more than forty.

"Quite defenseless now, aren't you?" He asked her, "Without any energy to spare, not as much as a knife to fight with… and let's not forget your dragon. Gone."

Andrar. Her mind snapped to her dragon, "Where is he!"

"Do not interrupt!" Galbatorix shouted at her, his voice reverberating around the room, leaping to his feet. He hurried back down the steps, striding to her. She pushed herself against the wall as he approached, trying to become invisible. "You… you tiny little girl, you need to watch your tongue in my presence, understood?" He asked, grabbing her face with long, cold fingers. "Am I understood?"

"Yes…" she whimpered, nodding.

He let go of her face and turned around again, taking a few steps. "Your dragon is alive, for the time being. I am disappointed to see that it is a male dragon, however, I was hoping to catch the female." His eyes snapped towards the Twins and they flinched, "Take your leave!" They turned and hurried off, the door slamming behind him.

"Now," he spun back to Mariah, holding his hands in front of him, laced together. "Let's see what your little mind holds that we can't break into, shall we?" Before she had time to so much as blink, he was speaking rapidly in the Ancient Language and swimming through her mind feverishly, searching. "Gah!" He spat, retreating almost instantaneously. "What's this, damaged? Ah!"

Sliding to the floor, crying, she took a ragged breath, just not wanting to hurt anymore. "Durza."

"Durza, of course. Extracting your memories and dying before he could finish, that would leave your mind broken. Then your mind is of no use to me!" Galbatorix turned and walked back toward his throne, contemplating. "You will stay here as a Rider for the Empire. You will do as I say, or you shall be punished, am I understood?"

She nodded, bloody tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Good." He turned towards her once again, lifting her face up to look at him with one thin finger under her chin. "I'm sure you will enjoy being here with me, my dear, after you get used to it. Show her to her room." Galbatorix said, striding back to his throne.

The Twins re-appeared and forced her to her feet, prodding her to walk ahead of them through the massive double doors. In the hallway, she caught sight of herself in the reflection from a suit of armor. Her eyes were dark and appeared to be bleeding now that her tears had dragged the blood down her cheek and onto her neck. Mariah stumbled ahead of them, feeling light headed as she walked. One flicked his hand to the side, throwing her into the wall, sneering. Her hair was already matted with blood. The other twin snarled and pulled his hand forward, wrenching her off her feet onto the floor. Her face hit with a loud thud and she blacked out.

When she woke back up, she could feel blood gushing from the gash on her cheekbone. The Twins hadn't bothered to move her, merely waited for her to regain consciousness. "Get up. Your weakness is pathetic."

There wouldn't be a way out of this, she realized, pushing herself up onto her knees. They would take any opportunity to make her bleed that they could, beat her senseless until she feinted, then wait for her to wake again to start the cycle all over. Rubbing the corner of her mouth free of blood, she stood and continued down the hallway, refusing to stumble in fear of what they might do a second time around.

"These will be your quarters for now." She blinked at the room. They had walked for what seemed like a mile. The castle was enormous and the walk had brought them to an entirely separate wing. Having expected a dungeon cell, she was surprised to find the room lavish and filled top to bottom with furnishings and décor. "You will stay here until your companion wakes. Then both of you shall meet again with his majesty." They shoved her in the room and locked the doors behind her.

Mariah took a weak step forward, and then fell to her knees. _How could I let this happen?_ She asked herself, wiping her face on her sleeve and looking up. Her heart skipped a beat and she pushed back up onto her feet, rushing to the bed. "Murtagh!" She shook his shoulder, "Wake up!"

He moaned and looked up at her, "I'm trying to sleep…" Rubbing his eyes, he blinked a few times and looked back at her. "You can let go of my shoulder now, there's a gash there." Blood was soaking into the dark purple blankets covering the bed.

She blinked and stared at him, quickly removing her hands. "What happened?"

"We were ambushed," he hissed slightly, trying to sit up. She made to stop him and he waved her off. "And those two freaks transported us here by sapping the magic out of your dragon."

"And what happened to you?"

"I woke up first and the two of them had extra fun torturing me before throwing me over to Galbatorix. Let's just say he wasn't too happy to see me after I left last year. Look at you, can't believe you're still standing to be honest. Sit, before you pass out again."

Mariah did so, staring at him. "You look awful."

"Yeah, well you look worse," he said, rolling his eyes. "When you have enough strength, there's a water basin over there. Clean the blood off yourself, will you?" Looking around the room, she saw a few plants sitting in clay pots lining a shelf - poisonous, from the looks of them. Mariah drained the energy out of them, feeling the smallest bit revived. She stood and walked over, grabbing the pitcher of water and returning. "Damn girl, I said when you have enough strength."

She took the clean washcloth that had been by the basin and dipped it in the water, ringing it out. "Clearly I do, so you can stop getting so angry with me about it. Hold still," she told him, pulling what was left of his sleeve off and wiping the damp cloth over it. The damage to his shoulder was worse than she originally though. Not only was it still bleeding with no signs of clotting soon, but the bruise forming around it was the deepest purple she'd ever seen. "Don't suppose there's anything in here that could help alleviate the pain…" Mariah muttered to herself, looking around.

"Doubt it," he sighed, letting go of the blanket he'd gripped onto. "Wouldn't want to heal us all up too quickly now would he?"

"Why bother keeping us alive then?"

"Because," Murtagh winced, "He wants you alive… you're a Rider. He can use you."

"There's no point in keeping you here though."

He let out a dull chuckle, "That is purely out of revenge. He hates me for deserting him and wishes to torture me for it."

"Stupid," she muttered, finding a tunic in a drawer nearby. Mariah shrugged and ripped it into long strips, walking back over to him and tying them tight around his shoulder to keep the wound from bleeding. "There, better. For now at least. As soon as I get some magic back, I'll heal it for you." Stretching, she returned to the dresser and found a shirt and some pants near her size. "Shut your eyes."

"What?" He blinked at her, "You're joking."

"Only if you want me to gouge your eyes out instead," Mariah glanced at him. "Close your eyes, please. I refuse to wear torn, bloodied clothing if I have a better option." He muttered to himself and shut his eyes. She stripped her clothing quickly and threw it down, pulling the long green shirt over her head, then pulling on the tan pants. "Okay." Mariah said, tucking the loose ends into the waist.

Murtagh looked at her and sighed, "Eragon was right. You shouldn't have come along."

"Too late now," she said, rolling up the sleeves. Mariah walked around and flopped on the bed beside him. "I need to sleep."

"Shoulda done that first," he told her, glancing over to see her already passed out. "Spent the last of her energy changing clothes and helping me, figures." Murtagh watched her. A week ago she'd been dying, and now she was in so much more danger because of Galbatorix. "I promised your brother I'd keep you safe…" he admitted to her quietly. "And I couldn't even do that."

* * *

Mark waited against the wall of the circular room. The sky blue dome overhead was decorated with constellations. A round marble table, inlaid with the crest of Dûrgrimst Igeitum - an upright hammer ringed by twelve stars – stood in the center of the chamber. Seated there were Jörmundur and two other men, one tall – Umerth - and one broad - Falberd; a woman with punched lips, close-set eyes, and elaborately painted cheeks - Sabrae; and a second woman with an immense pile of gray hair above a matronly face, belied by a dagger hilt peeking out of the vast hills of her bodice - Elessari. This handful of people was Ajihad's council, or had been. He'd scoffed upon meeting them all, surprised that Jörmundur appeared the best of the lot and he hadn't thought very highly of him from the start.

A young boy had just been sent off to fetch Eragon, wherever he may be. Having overheard about the meeting, Mark had subtly invited himself through Jörmundur to the room. The man didn't realize in the slightest that he'd used magic to persuade him. Finally, the Rider arrived alongside Saphira, taking a seat in one of the many chairs. Mark walked over and sat beside him, arms folded over his chest, kicking his feet up onto the back of the chair in front of him.

After introductions and a quick apology for their loss, Jörmundur began the meeting. "We face a crisis that must be dealt with quickly and effectively. If we don't choose Ajihad's successor, someone else will. Hrothgar has already contacted us to convey his condolences. While we was more than courteous, he is sure to be forming his own plans even as we speak. We must also consider Du Vrangr Gata, the magic users. Most of them are loyal to the Varden, but it's difficult to predict their actions even in the best of times. They might decide to oppose our authority for their own advantage. That is why we need your assistance, Eragon, to provide the legitimacy required by whoever is to take Ajihad's place."

Falberd heaved himself up, planting his meaty hands on the table. "The five of us have already decided whom to support. There is no doubt among us that it is the right person. But," he raised a thick finger, "before we reveal who it is, you must give us your word of honor that whether you agree or disagree with us, nothing of our discussion will leave this room."

Eragon glanced over at him. The corner of Mark's mouth twitched into a smirk, _They wish to see you bend to their will. _

_Saphira says it might be a trap. _

_She's quite right in guessing as much._ Mark watched him nod, telling them, "Very well, you have my word."

"Mine as well," he said. These people really thought that was good enough? The simple fact he'd not sworn in the Ancient Language was one thing, but the amount of loopholes he'd made by saying that in such a way was bordering on foolish. Mark shrugged to himself and listened.

"Now, who do you want to lead the Varden?" Eragon asked.

"Nasuada."

Eragon's eyes dropped as he thought. Mark could practically see his brain over loading with the process. _Take your time and think through your answer, yours is the one that matters. _After a moment he turned to the council, trying to buy him some time, and asked, "Why not you, Jörmundur? You're Ajihad's right-hand man. Shouldn't you be considered to take his place?"

_Why would they want Nasuada? She's your age. She is Ajihad's daughter, but why would they want her to lead? There's no benefit to it._

_Are you sure?_ Mark asked, only half listening to the council babble back an answer._ She's young, but she is Ajihad's daughter – everyone knows who she is and trusts her. The council on the other hand… I'm thinking not as much. _

The Elessari woman was speaking now, "I had already been here for seven years when Ajihad joined the Varden. I've watched Nasuada grow up from a darling girl to the woman she is. A trifle light-headed occasionally, but a good figure to lead the Varden. The people will love her. Now I," she patted herself affectionately on her large bosom, "and my friends will be here to guide her through these troubled times. She will never be without someone to show her the way. Inexperience should be no barrier to her taking her rightful position."

_They want a puppet!_

Mark smiled slightly, _Very good. They believe they can easily control her because of her youth, I doubt they've thought of her strong will however. She isn't the type to take orders from anyone._

"Ajihad's funeral will be held in two days," broke in Umerth. "Directly afterward, we plan to appoint Nasuada as our new leader. We have yet to ask her, but she will surely agree. We want you to be present at the appointing – no one, not even Hrothgar, can complain about it then – and to swear fealty to the Varden. That will give back the confidence Ajihad's death has stolen from the people, and prevent anyone from trying to splinter this organization."

_Fealty?_

_Oh, look, they're trying to control you as well._ Mark said, _Answer them, they're looking at you._

"What happens," Eragon asked, "if I decide not to accept your offer?"

"Offer?" Falberd asked, seeming puzzled. "Why, nothing, of course. Only it would be a terrible slight if you're not present when Nasuada is chosen. If the hero of the battle of Farthen Dûr ignores her, what can she think but that a Rider has spited her and found the Varden unworthy to serve? Who could bear such a shame?"

Mark's eyes flicked towards them, suppressing his own anger. _Remain level headed Eragon._

"Since Riders are so highly thought of, I could decide that my efforts would be best spent guiding the Varden myself."

_Not what I meant. _Mark said, feeling the entire aura of the room fall dead from the sky.

"That would be unwise," Sabrae said to him carefully.

_Eragon, you can't do this. Taking control of the Varden is not something you are ready for. And even if you were, someone is going to be angry with you for doing so. You are a Rider first and foremost, pledging loyalty to one group over another isn't a good idea. We're going to avoid this best we can._

_How do you suggest we do that? They want me to swear fealty to them. After I do that, what are they going to do? They might ignore the Varden's earlier pact with the elves and refuse to let me go to Ellesméra._

Mark looked over at him, not caring whether or not the council thought the motion strange. _That will never happen, no matter what you will make it to Ellesméra. Agree to attend the ceremony tomorrow with Nasuada, I have a plan._

_What plan?_

_Just agree; we have to go quickly._

Eragon nodded quickly to them, standing, "As you wish; I shall attend Nasuada's appointment."

Jörmundur looked relieved. "Good, good. Then we have only one more matter to deal with before you go: Nasuada's acceptance. There's no reason to delay, with all of us here. I'll send for her immediately. And Arya too – we need the elves' approval before making this decision public. It shouldn't be difficult to procure; Arya cannot go against our council _and _you, Eragon. She will have to agree with our judgment."

"Wait," commanded Elessari, a steely glint in her eyes. "Your word, though, Rider. Will you give it in fealty at the ceremony?"

"Yes, you must do that," agreed Falberd. "The Varden would be disgraced if we couldn't provide you every protection."

_Damn,_ Mark said, standing beside Eragon, _I was hoping to leave before they decided to make you do this now. You know you can't refuse._

_They wouldn't dare harm us if I did though…_

_Physically? No. However, there may come a day when we wish the Varden to be our allies instead of our enemies. Imagine yourself facing Galbatorix's army on your left and the Varden on the right. At that point would you rather fight both sides, or one with the assistance of the other?_

_Saphira agrees, we can't afford to say no at this point. _Eragon said, looking at them. "I'll give it." The entire room relaxed with those three words. It was apparent that the council didn't want him on their bad side.

The boy that had been sent to fetch Eragon was then sent off to get Nasuada and Arya. While they awaited his return, the room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Mark ignored it and focused on his plan, _Eragon, you know there are ways to twist out of a promise, correct?_

_It's difficult to do so, I know that much._

_Yes, it is. And even more so when those words are in the Ancient Language. Your promise to them was only to swear fealty, nothing more. Keep that thought to yourself for the time being, I'll explain more later._

The door opened again and Nasuada walked into the room, chin held high and eyes steady. Her embroidered gown was the deepest shade of black, deeper even than her skin, broken only by a slash of royal purple that stretched from shoulder to hip. Behind her was Arya, her stride as lithe and smooth as a cat's.

The boy was dismissed, then Jörmundur helped Nasuada into a seat. Arya ignored the chair proffered to her and stood at a distance from the table.

"Arya," acknowledged Jörmundur with a nod, then concentrated on Nasuada. "Nasuada, Daughter of Ajihad, the Council of Elders wishes to formally extend its deepest condolences for the loss you, more than anyone else, have suffered…" In a lower voice, he added, "You have our personal sympathies as well. We all know what it is like to have a family member killed by the Empire."

Mark watched the exchange, a lump forming in his throat. He felt sorry for Nasuada. It was the first time he really thought about it. She'd lost her father. He'd been much too busy thinking of his own sister to realize that she was probably distraught.

"Thank you," murmured Nasuada, lowering her almost eyes. She sat, shy and demure, and with an air of vulnerability. Her demeanor was tragically different from that of the energetic young woman who had visited the dragonhold before the battle.

"Although this is your time of mourning, a quandary exists that you must resolve. This council cannot lead the Varden. And someone must replace your father after the funeral. We ask that you receive the position. As his heir, it is rightfully yours – the Varden expect it of you."

Nasuada bowed her head with shining eyes. Grief was plain in her voice when she said, "I never thought I would be called upon to take my father's place so young. Yet… if you insist it is my duty… I will embrace the office."

The Council of Elders beamed with triumph, pleased that Nasuada had done what they wanted. "We do insist," said Jörmundur, "for your own good and the good of the Varden." The rest of the elders added their expressions of support, which Nasuada accepted with sad smiles. Sabrae threw an angry glance at Eragon and Mark when they did not join in.

"Will the elves find this agreeable?" Falberd asked Arya.

She stared at him until he fidgeted under her piercing gaze, then lifted an eyebrow. "I cannot speak for my queen, but I find nothing objectionable to it. Nasuada has my blessing."

Arya's remark obviously pleased the council. Nasuada thanked her and asked Jörmundur, "Is there anything else that might be discussed? For I am weary."

He shook his head, "We will make all the arrangements. I promise you won't be troubled until the funeral."

"Again, thank you. Would you leave me now? I need time to consider how best to honor my father and serve the Varden. You have given me much to ponder." Nasuada splayed her delicate fingers on the dark cloth on her lap.

With every word she spoke, it was harder and harder for Mark to resist grinning. He wished his sister had enough control over herself to speak in such a way and act as proper as her while being so powerful. She never would though, he remembered, because she was gone. His gaze flickered to a wall, remembering why he was here. Looking at Nasuada for a moment, he worked his way into her mind, _Ask us to stay. I have something I wish to discuss with you._

If she was surprised by the intrusion, she hid it well, "Eragon, will you please stay?" She flicked her eyes up towards the Rider and then Mark, "You as well Marcus?"

He glanced toward the door, meeting Arya's gaze as she shut it behind her. The Rider lowered himself back into his chair. Mark stood behind him, "Atra nosu waíse vardo fra eld hórnya." Eragon turned his head to look at Mark as he moved to a chair, sitting down. "No one outside this room will be able to hear us speak now."

"Thank you, you don't know what a gift that is." Her voice was stronger and more self-assured now.

"What I wish to discuss with you is a private matter and shouldn't be overheard, it's for my own benefit as much as it is your own Lady Nasuada. However, before we speak of such matters I wish to offer my personal condolences for the loss of your father. I'm sorry I haven't said something before now, but I've been distracted." Mark told her.

Eragon nodded, "Ajihad was a great man – his name will always be remembered… I have something I wish to tell you. Before Ajihad died, he charge me, commanded me, to keep the Varden from falling into chaos. Those were his last words. Arya heard them as well." Eragon said, "I was going to keep what he said secret because of the implications, but you have a right to know. I'm not sure what Ajihad meant, nor exactly what he wanted, but I am certain of this: I will always defend the Varden with my powers. I wanted you to understand that, and that I've no desire to usurp the Varden's leadership."

Nasuada laughed brittlely. "But that leadership isn't to be me, is it?" Her reserve had vanished, leaving behind only composure and determination. "I know why you were here before me and what the council is trying to do. Do you think that in the years I served my father, we never planned for this eventuality? I expected the council to do exactly what they did. And now everything is in place for me to take command of the Varden."

"You have no intention of letting them rule you," said Eragon with wonder.

Mark shook his head, "Pretending to be naïve of their plans was part of the act. If they knew her true intentions, they would not have appointed her."

"Precisely. Eragon, please continue to keep my father's instruction secret. It would be unwise to bandy it about, as people might take it to mean that he wanted you to succeed him, and that would undermine my authority and destabilize the Varden. He said what he thought he had to in order to protect the Varden. I would have done the same. My father…" She faltered briefly, "My father's work will not go unfinished, even if it takes me to the grave. That is what _I _want you, as a Rider, to understand. All of Ajihad's plans, all his strategies and goals, they are mine now. I will not fail him by being weak. The Empire _will_ be brought down, Galbatorix _will_ be dethroned, and the rightful government _will_ be raised." By the time she finished, a tear ran down her cheek.

"And what of me, Nasuada? What shall I do in the Varden?"

She looked directly into his eyes. "You can do whatever you want. The council members are fools if they think to control you. You are a hero to the Varden and the dwarves, and even the elves will hail your victory over Durza when they hear of it. If you go against he council or me, we will be forced to yield, for the people will support you wholeheartedly. Right now, you are the most powerful person in the Varden. However, if you accept my leadership, I will continue the path laid down by Ajihad: you will go with Arya to the elves, be instructed here, then return to the Varden."

_She's being honest with you,_ Mark said, smiling a bit. "Nasuada, your dream to follow in your father's footsteps is noble, however alone you will not be able to see it fulfilled. We have something to propose to you, personally and as leader of the Varden."

Eragon nodded, drawing Zar'roc and standing in front of her. Fear flashed in her eyes as he did so, her fingers slipping into a fold of her dress, grasping what Mark could only guess was a dagger. He watched as Eragon stopped before her, knelt and held the Rider's blade flat in his hands.

"Nasuada, I have been here for only a short while. But in that time we came to respect Ajihad, and now, in turn, you. You fought under Farthen Dûr when others fled, including the two women of the council, and have treated us openly instead of with deception. Therefore, I offer you my blade… and my fealty as a Rider."

_Are you sure this was a good idea Mark?_

_Best one I had at the moment. I had to think fast, otherwise you were going to be doomed as the Varden's dog for the rest of your life. I'd rather you were only Nasuada's dog, much better choice._ He said.

Surprise flitted across Nasuada's face. She grasped Zar'roc's hilt and lifted it – staring at its crimson blade- then placed the tip on Eragon's head. "I do accept your fealty with honor, Rider, as you accept all the responsibilities accompanying the station. Rise as my vassal and take your sword."

He did as he was told, then said, "Now I can tell you openly as my master, the council made me agree to swear to the Varden once you were appointed. This was the only way we could circumvent them."

She laughed with genuine delight, "Ah, I see you have already learned how to play our game. Very well, as my newest and only vassal, will you agree to give your fealty to me again – in public, when the council expect your vow?"

"Of course."

"Good, that will take care of the council. Now, until then, leave me. I have much planning to do, and I must prepare for the funeral… Remember, Eragon, the bond we have just created is equally binding; I am as responsible for your actions as you are required to serve me. Do not dishonor me.

"Nor you I."

Nasuada paused, then gazed at him and added in a gentler tone: "You have my condolences, Eragon. I realize that others beside myself have cause for sorrow; while I have lost my father, you have also lost friends. I liked Murtagh a great deal, and I owed Mariah my own life… it saddens me that they are both gone… Goodbye, Eragon."

The Rider walked from the room with Saphira, leaving Mark standing with Nasuada. They observed one another for a moment before either of them spoke.

"Lady Nasuada."

"Marcus," she said. "Despite the loss of your sister you're standing before me and providing guidance for Eragon. What do you wish to speak with me about?"

He took a deep breath before speaking, "I believe your rightful place is at the head of the Varden, however, and please don't think me rude, I also believe you to be young and inexperienced. The guidance the council is willing to provide you is only going to benefit themselves. My grandfather established this alliance, and though I ask for no position, I would like to offer myself to you, as an advisor, soldier or wherever else you see fit to place me."

"You believe you could be of help to me?" She asked plainly.

"Our goals are the same, and I no longer have my sister to protect. My purpose has gone with her, and I cannot stand around idly while the world falls into war and chaos around me."

"You're providing council for Eragon, are you not?"

"Until such a time when he leaves to train with the elves, yes. It was my grandfather's wish I see the new Rider to Ellesméra, however placing him in Arya's hands is close enough. I see no use in me going with them now that my sister is gone. I could be of much more use here."

"Are you offering me your fealty as well?"

"No," he said. Nasuada blinked at him, clearly not having expected that answer. "My promises are useless, I know of several ways to break them – even magically binding ones – without killing myself."

"Then, what are you offering?"

"That is up to you."

She stood there for a moment, observing him. "You are a Rider's brother, and the grandson of Brom, whom my father trusted fiercely. I owe your sister a debt that now can no longer be repaid. If you would allow, I wish to take you with me as a guard. The debt I incurred shall be repaid by my allowing this without your sworn word, only my trust in you. I wish for you to be my right-hand, as Jörmundur was to my father."

"And join the council?"

"No, you report only to me. I would need you to swear fealty to me after Eragon however, in front of the entire Varden."

"Just to show that I am loyal," he nodded. "It would be my honor to serve you."

"Thank you Marcus," Nasuada said, "I trust you."

He smiled at her, "The feeling is mutual my lady, if it were not, I would never agree to such an arrangement. I will do everything in my power to protect you, know that, without promises."

Nasuada nodded, "Now please, I do have planning to do, and preparations to make." She paused, her smile dropping, "And I am sorry for the loss of your sister…"

"As am I," he said. Mark bowed to her at the waist, "By your leave m'lady." He straightened and walked from the room, a smile playing on his lips as he walked back to his room.

* * *

_Eka weohnata halda onr systir trú._ - I will keep your sister safe.

Betcha didn't see that coming, did ya?

What do you think about throwing Mariah to the dark side? Yes or no? I really wanna know what you all think – it's gonna determine a lot of this story, as you can imagine.

Do you like the jumping back and forth format or would you rather a solid chapter of Mariah followed by a solid chapter of Mark?

With Love, As Always

Mariah


	5. Ch 45: Sorrow, Pride and Lust

**Chapter Forty-Five: Sorrow, Pride and Lust**

The next day, Orik had come to fetch Eragon and Saphira for King Hrothgar. They returned the morning after, clearly hung over. Upon seeing them, Mark set his jaw, staring at Eragon, debating whether or not to smack him.

"You are such a moron sometimes… you know we have to go to Ajihad's procession. You're going to be in the front of the line too, remember? Nasuada?"

"I know Mark… I know," he winced, holding his forehead.

He sighed, watching him, "I hope whatever you were doing with the dwarves was worth it." Snapping a hand out, Eragon flinched, bracing himself for a smack, only to feel Mark's fingers touch his head, instantly relieving any headaches he'd incurred while intoxicated. "There. Now get ready."

Before the thick gate – drawn up on its hidden chains to reveal faint daylight drifting into Farthen Dûr – they found a carefully arranged column. Ajihad lay at the front, cold and pale on a white marble bier borne by six men in black armor. Upon his head was a helm strewn with precious stones. His hands were clasped beneath his collarbone, over the ivory hilt of his bare sword, which extended from underneath the shield covering his chest and legs. Silver mail, like circlets of moonbeams, weighed down his limbs and fell onto the bier.

Close behind the body stood Nasuada – grave, sable-cloaked, and strong in stature, though tears adorned her countenance. To the side was Hrothgar in dark robes; then Arya; the Council of Elders, all with suitably remorseful expressions; and finally a stream of mourners that extended a mile from Tronjheim.

Every door and archway of the four-story-high hall that led to the central chamber of Tronjheim, half a mile away, was thrown open and crowded with humans and dwarves alike. Between the gray bands of faces, the long tapestries swayed as they were brushed with hundreds of sighs and whispers when Saphira and Eragon came into view.

Jormundur beckoned for them to join him. Trying not to disturb the formation, Eragon, Mark and Saphira picked through the column to the space by his side, earning a disapproving glare from Sabrae. Together they waited silently.

All the lanterns were shuttered halfway so that a cool twilight suffused the air, lending an ethereal feel to the event. No one seemed to move or breathe: for a brief moment, Eragon fancied that they were all statues frozen for eternity. A single plume of incense drifted from the bier, winding toward the hazy ceiling as it spread the scent of cedar and juniper. It was the only motion in the hall, a whiplash line undulating sinuously from side to side.

Deep in Tronjheim, a drum gonged. The sonorous bass note resonated through their bones, vibrating the city-mountain and causing it to echo like a great stone bell.

They stepped forward.

_Boom. _On the second note, another, lower drum melded with the first, each beat rolling inexorably through the hall. The force of the sound propelled them along at a majestic pace. It gave each step significance, a purpose and gravity suited to the occasion. No thought could exist in the throbbing that surrounded them, only an upwelling of emotion that the drums expertly beguiled, summoning tears and bittersweet joy at the same time.

When the tunnel ended, Ajihad's bearers paused between the onyx pillars before gliding into the central chamber. There they saw the dwarves grow even more solemn upon beholding Isidar Mithrim.

_Boom._

They walked through a crystal graveyard. A circle of towering shards lay in the center of the great chamber, surrounding the inlaid hammer and pentacles. Many pieces were larger than Saphira. The rays of the star sapphire still shimmered in the fragments, and on some, petals of the carved rose were visible.

_Boom._

The bearers continued forward, between the countless razor edges. Then the procession turned and descended broad flights of stairs to the tunnels below. Through many caverns they marched, passing stone huts where dwarven children clutched their mothers and stared with wide eyes.

_Boom._

And with a final crescendo, they halted under ribbed stalactites that branched over a great catacomb lined with alcoves. In each alcove lay a tomb carved with a name and clan crest. Thousands – hundreds of thousands – were buried here. The only light came from sparsely placed red lanterns, pale in the shadows.

After a moment, the bearers strode to a small room annexed to the main chamber. In the center, on a raised platform, was a great crypt open to waiting darkness. On the top was carved the runes:

_May all, Knurlan, Humans, and Elves,_

_Remember_

_This Man_

_For he was Noble, Strong, and Wise._

_Gûntera Arûna_

When the mourners were gathered around, Ajihad was lowered into the crypt, and those who had known him personally were allowed to approach. Eragon and Saphira were fifth in line, behind Arya. As they ascended the marble steps to view the body, Eragon was gripped by an overwhelming sense of sorrow, his anguish compounded by the fact that he considered this as much Mariah, Andrar and Murtagh's funeral as Ajihad's.

Stopping alongside the tomb, Eragon gazed down at Ajihad. He appeared far more calm and tranquil than he ever did in life, as if death had recognized his greatness and honored him by removing all traces of his worldly cares. Eragon had known Ajihad only a short while, but in that time he had come to respect him both as a person and for what he represented: freedom from tyranny.

Stricken, Eragon tried to think of the greatest praise he could give. In the end, he whispered past the lump in his throat, "You will be remembered, Ajihad. I swear it. Rest easy knowing that Nasuada shall continue your work and the Empire will be overthrown because of what you accomplished." Concious of Saphira's touch on his arm, Eragon stepped off the platform with her and allowed Mark to take his place. He watched his friend beside Saphira, his lips never moved so he could only assume he was silent in his praise. After a moment, Mark turned and walked back to him, standing quiet next to him.

When at last everyone had paid their respects, Nasuada bowed over Ajihad and touched her father's hand, holding it with gently urgency. Uttering a pained groan, she began to sing in a strange, wailing language, filling the cavern with her lamentations.

Then came twelve dwarves, who slid a marble slab over Ajihad's upturned face. And he was no more.

Jörmundur walked over to them, "Everyone is now convening to the underground amphitheater, we need to go as well."

"I'm going to follow along with Eragon," Mark insisted, looking at Jörmundur. He nodded and led them off, leaving Mark with a little smirk.

When they arrived, Mark stopped and fell against a wall on the bottom most level, inside the passageway underneath all the seating. _Remember Eragon… remain calm when they expect you to pledge your fealty to them. You have already promised Nasuada. Despite their reactions, you can't get angry. If all goes well, you'll walk out of here with everyone's approval… besides the council of course._

The Rider nodded a bit, walking after Arya and Saphria to the center of the amphitheater's stage. Mark followed after him and stood between him and Arya, mostly trying not to be noticed.

_Mark…_

_Yes, Eragon?_

_Would Mariah approve of this? Pledging to Nasuada?_

He looked at the stone beneath his feet, _I wouldn't know Eragon. I can't say what she'd think of this…_

"People of the Varden," Jörmundur said, "we last stood here fifteen years ago, at Deynor's death. His successor, Ajihad, did more to oppose the Empire and Galbatorix than any before. He won countless battles against superior forces. He nearly killed Durza, putting a scratch on the Shade's blade. And greatest of all, he welcomed Rider Eragon and Saphira into Tronjheim. However, a new leader must be chosen, one who will win us even more glory."

"Shadeslayer!" A shout came from high above, followed by murmurs of agreement.

Jörmundur did not even blink at the suggestion, "Perhaps in years to come, but he has other duties and responsibilities now. No, the Council of Elders has through long on this: we need one who understands our needs and wants, one who has lived and suffered alongside us. One who refused to flee, even when battle was imminent."

At that moment, comprehension rushed through the listeners. The name came as a whisper from a thousand throats and was uttered by Jörmundur himself: "Nasuada." With a bow, he stepped aside.

Next was Arya. She surveyed the wating audience, then said, "The elves honor Ajihad tonight…And on behalf of Queen Islanzadí, I recognize Nasuada's ascension and offer her the same support and friendship we extended to her father. May the stars watch over her."

Hrothgar took the podium and stated gruffly, "I too support Nasuada, as do the clans." He moved aside.

Then it was Eragon's turn. How he wished Mariah were standing nearby with a supporting smile. Grief stricken, standing before the crowd will all eyes upon him and Saphira, he managed, "We support Nasuada as well." Saphira growled affirmation behind him.

Pledges spoken, the Council of Elders lined themselves on either side of the podium, Jörmundur at their head. Bearing herself proudly, Nasuada approached and knelt before him, her dress splayed in raven billows. Raising his voice, Jörmundur said, "By the right of inheritance and succession, we have chosen Nasuada. By merit of her father's achievements and the blessings of her peers, we have chosen Nasuada. I now ask you: Have we chosen well?"

The roar was overwhelming. "Yes!"

Jörmundur nodded. "Then by the power granted to this council, we pass the privileges and responsibilities accorded to Ajihad to his only descendant, Nasuada." He gently placed a circlet of silver on Nasuada's brow. Taking her hand, he lifted her upright and pronounced, "I give you our new leader!" The Varden and dwarves cheered for ten minutes, thundering their approval until the hall rang with the clamor.

Mark glanced over at Eragon, watching as Sabrae of the council whispered to him. _Remember what you promised Nasuada. Don't hesitate, just do it. There is nothing they can do to you and nothing they can do to stop you._

He nodded slightly in response to both Sabrae and Mark, walking to Nasuada and Jörmundur. He bowed and kneeled. Slipping Zar'roc from it's sheath, he placed the sword flat on his palms, then lifted it, as if to proffer it to Jörmundur. For a moment, the sword hovered between the man and Nasuada, teetering on the wire edge of two different destinies. Then he swung to face Nasuada. "Out of deep respect… and appreciation of the difficulties facing you… I, Eragon, first Rider of the Varden, Shadeslayer and Argetlam, give you my blade and my fealty, Nasuada."

The Varden and dwarves stared, dumbstruck. In that same instant, the Council of Elders flashed from triumphant gloating to enraged impotence. Their glares burned with the strength and venom of those betrayed. Even Elessari let outrage burst through her pleasant demeanor. Only Jörmundur – after a brief jolt of surprise – seemed to accept the announcement with equanimity.

Nasuada smiled and grasped Zar'roc, placing the sword's tip on Eragon's forehead, just as before. "I am honored that you choose to serve me, Rider Eragon. I accept, as you accept all the responsibilities accompanying the station. Rise as my vassal and take your sword." Eragon did so, then stepped back with Saphira. With shouts of approval, the crowd rose to their feet, the dwarves stamping in rhythm with their hobnail boots while human warriors banged swords across shields. Mark took the rising din as an opportune distraction, striding to Nasuada and kneeling in front of her. She stared down at him for a moment, waiting for the cheering to stop. He tapped his throat, casting a spell in his mind.

"Lady Nasuada," when he spoke, his voice seemed louder, echoing around the theater slightly, so that others could hear if they hadn't all silenced already. "Like my companion, Rider Eragon, has just sworn fealty to you and the Varden, I offer the same. Though I may not be a Rider as Mariah was, I wish to give the Varden and yourself whatever I have to offer. Since our arrival, the Varden and those of Farthen Dûr have been as family, treated us with kindness and respect, I wish to pay back their compassion in full. Consider my life yours and take it in memory of my late sister."

He caught Eragon staring at him from a ways off, ignoring him for the time being. Nasuada watched Mark for a minute before looking up at the assemblage. She held out her hand to them and they cheered. Looking back down at him, she smiled, "After bringing to us Rider Eragon, as well as your sister, and protecting and fighting with us when it was not your duty to do so, we would be proud to have you join us. You would be a valuable asset to the Varden, and it is clear they all approve. Please, Lord Marcus, rise as my vassal and stand at my side."

He stood, tapping his throat again gently to remove the spell and stepping on the opposite side of her as Jörmundur. The glares he incurred from the council were nearly as bad as the ones Eragon had received, but he expertly ignored them, looking at Nasuada the entire time.

She raised her hands, standing at the podium, "People of the Varden!"

Silence.

"As my father did before me, I give my life to you and our cause. I will never cease fighting until the Urgals are vanquished, Galbatorix is dead, and Alagaësia is free once more! Therefore, I say to you, now is the time to prepare. Here in Farthen Dûr – after endless skirmishes – we won our greatest battle. It is our turn to strike back. Galbatorix is weak after losing so many forces, and there will never again be such an opportunity. Therefore, I say again, now is the time to prepare so that we will once more stand victorious!"

After standing around, listening to speeches from various personages – including the council members – the amphitheater began to empty. Mark and Eragon turned to leave, Saphira rising to her feet. Walking out slowly, Mark glanced at the boy and his dragon, _You should get ready to leave. Though the council members can't do much to you, they will make your life a living hell. The sooner you're gone, the better._

_Mark, you didn't tell me about your fealty to Nasuada._

_It wasn't fealty._

He blinked, _Then what was it? _

_A mutual trust in one another where both parties are likely to gain. I didn't want you telling anyone else, which is why I said nothing. _

_I wouldn't have said anything._

_You might have, and seeing as how you got drunk yesterday, it was very likely your loose tongue let something slip. _

_Wait, this means you're not going to Ellesméra with us? _

_No._

_Why not? You said you would… you even know how to get there._

_Arya will take you,_ Mark said, walking through the tunnel with him. _I trust her to take care of you and Saphira while I stay here. Nasuada needs someone who she can trust. I owe no one here anything save her, and only because of her father do I do this. She is young and easily going to be led astray, I can't let that happen to the greatest enemy of Galbatorix. I owe the council nothing, so I can ignore all their misdeeds, and I can focus on helping Nasuada. Ajihad let us in, all of us, even Murtagh, despite knowing his lineage. That man gave us more than anyone else has in a long time, and I owe him for that. Since he is dead and I can no longer pay back that debt, I give what I owe to his daughter. I'm sure he would appreciate the notion._

_She said the same thing about Mariah earlier, saving her life._

_Yes. She agreed to me not swearing fealty to her in exchange for erasing that debt. Both of us will owe each other nothing, and in that we will be equal partners looking to gain. Our mutual goal is to defeat Galbatorix. That is why I will not go to Ellesméra with you Eragon. _

_Alright Mark… I… I think I understand._

_If you don't you will in due time, now go and get some rest._ Mark said, turning and heading to his own room.

* * *

"The king wishes to see you now."

Mariah flicked her eyes open and looked past Murtagh towards the door; a small group of guards and a messenger were standing there, waiting. She sighed a little and roused Murtagh. With a small moan, he sat up, rubbing his shoulder. "Let me heal that for you," she said quietly, touching his wound with careful fingers. "Waise heil…" The wound glowed for a moment faintly in red-orange before fading and repairing itself.

"Thank you Mariah," he said, standing up and heading for the door. The girl scrambled to catch up with him, falling into step beside him. "What does his highness wish to see us about so early this fine morning?"

The messenger sniffed a bit, "That is for him to know. Follow." He turned and with the guards surrounding the two captives, they headed up the stairs and down a passageway. While walking, they strode past the kitchens, making Mariah's mouth water and her stomach flip with hunger. She couldn't remember the last time she had a proper meal. Wrapping an arm around her waist, she hurried alongside Murtagh, only to stop in front of a pair of double doors. The messenger knocked and they swung wide open, revealing an ornate room with a long table, Galbatorix sitting at the head.

"Good Morning!" He said cheerily, "Come in, come in. I'm sure you both are starved."

Murtagh's jaw set and he let his eyes glance toward Mariah before flicking ahead again. He closed his eyes a moment before walking into the room, sitting down at the side of the table where it was set. Mariah watched him a moment before following and sitting beside him. Galbatorix waved his hand a bit and a few maids walked around, setting food in front of them. As hungry as she was, she didn't feel much like eating with the king in the same room. She caught Murtagh out of the corner of her eye start eating and bit her lip. He glanced back and stepped on her foot lightly before flicking his eyes toward Galbatorix, who was watching her intently. Catching on, she swallowed and picked up a fork, eating slowly.

"Much better. I see that you're both looking quite well rested this morning." Both of them had dark circles under their eyes and Murtagh's shoulder still ached from the wound he'd incurred. Mariah still felt weak, especially after using so much energy to heal him earlier. "Well, I'll get right to it then." He said, "Murtagh has told me oh so much about you, young Rider."

Mariah flicked her eyes up to him, staring.

"Not intentionally, of course," he said. "So you can't really blame him my dear. From what I've gathered out of his rather well-protected mind is that you are quite skilled with a blade. Tell me, who was your teacher?"

She blinked, glancing at Murtagh who was expertly ignoring her gaze. How much had he managed to conceal from the king? It was difficult to tell, so she decided not to reveal more than necessary. "My grandfather."

"And who was that?"

"…his name was Brom."

"So I've gathered." He said, "I'm glad to see you aren't a liar, Mariah. Pray tell, who are your parents?"

"I don't know, they died when I was very young."

"And what of your brother?"

Mariah watched him, "What of him?"

"I know little of him, I merely wish to know more." He said.

"We were on none too pleasant terms last we spoke and I wish to avoid the topic all together."

"I see… well then, let me speed ahead, since you appear disinclined to talk with me this morning," he said, "I want to see the full extent of your skills. You will show me today out in the court yard. Afterward you will be allowed to see your dragon."

Mariah stared at her goblet of water for a minute silently, thinking. "If that is what you wish of me, I shall need a sword and a new set of clothing, preferably of my own choosing."

"Everything you need shall be provided in due time. I must first see how your skill with a sword is… afterward, your magic. It won't be until after that when you get what you ask for." He stood up smoothly and strode to the door, "You shall be in the court yard in one hour exactly. If you waste time and arrive late, you will be punished. You will remain in one another's company at all times so my guards can keep watch on you." Galbatorix paused at the doors, watching them open, "And if you try to run, escape or do anything other than what I say Mariah. I will kill him. It would be such a shame to do so Murtagh, after all I've done for you." He flicked his cape as he walked from the room, the doors closing behind him.

They finished eating in silence - Mariah, in fear of being harmed for speaking anything, especially her own mind, and not wanting wandering ears to hear what she had to say. She didn't know why Murtagh said nothing, but she suspected the same of him. When he stood to leave, she jumped to her feet and followed, glancing at him as the doors opened.

A maid dipped her head, "Dragon Rider, I've been instructed to bring you to the armory to be fitted for a weapon by Galath, please, follow me."

Mariah blinked at the formality of the situation. Since she'd arrived in Urû'baen, she'd been treated as a prisoner who was expected to do the king's bidding. It was a nice change, but she didn't think she could get used to it. "Thank you." She said simply, following after the woman, listening to Murtagh trail behind her with the guards.

The armory was fully stocked, but seemed to be lacking a few key weapons that she would have instantly chosen over anything there. No weapons of Elvish make were in sight, nor any Rider blades. If Galbatorix had any in his possession, she suspected they were kept elsewhere under constant surveillance. A gruff looking man strode over to her, towering her by at least a foot.

"You are small and appear very weak, tell me, what weapon you choose to fight with."

Mariah bit down her anger at his comment and sneered, "Whatever you dare give a Rider."

Galath leaned his head down towards her, glaring, "If you are attempting to use your status to intimidate me, might I remind you that I am captain of the King's guard. And you are a tiny little girl who has become his captive. Your spirit will be crushed soon enough." He turned and walked to a wooden sword lying on a table, grabbing it and thrusting it towards her.

She slid a foot forward, twisting her hand and grasping it by the handle, before moving into a fighting pose without thought. "A practice sword, what do you take me for?"

"I feared you may harm yourself on a sharpened blade."

"I assure you, I could kill with a weapon as dull as this one; however I believe a sharpened steel sword is better suited to me." She threw the wood back at him with a snarl.

"If you insist." Galath took up a polished sword and pitched it toward her, faster than the previous weapon.

Mariah stepped sideways and snatched the handle. She tested the weight in her hand. It was heavier than she had hoped and knew they were thinner blades in the room, however chose to keep the one in her hand, not going to give him the satisfaction or opening to say anything else about her weaknesses. Lowering it to the ground, the tip hit the stone floor with a click. "Better." She said, "Now, tell me how to reach the court yard." She stared at the guard master and held his gaze.

His mustache twitched and he pushed past her, forcing Murtagh to step aside as he bustled out of the doorway. Mariah grabbed a sheath and tied the belt to her waist, following him with Murtagh on her heels. They arrived shortly to a large set of double doors leading outside; she breathed in deeply when she smelled fresh air and sighed a bit, knowing she would have given almost anything to find Andrar and flee with him this moment.

"Ah, well met," Galbatorix was striding around in his long dragon-wing cape. "You will show me how well you do with a blade, then we will see about testing your magic." He moved over to an immaculate chair that had seemingly been placed there just for his own pleasure earlier that day. "You may begin."

She stared at him and wrenched the sword from its sheath. Testing the weight again, she sighed inwardly, knowing the heavier blade would take more effort to maneuver. Mariah took a deep breath, shutting her eyes and trying to calm her nerves. When she flicked her eyes back open, she tried to imagine Mark standing in front of her, egging her on for practice round two.

"Murtagh come here." Mariah bit her tongue as he interrupted. She looked over and saw the king waving to Murtagh to stand beside him. "Come and watch your companion. I want to see if she is as good as your memories say she is."

Flicking her eyes shut again, she started, trying her best to block out his voice as he kept talking. _Does he want to watch me or talk to him? This is ridiculous. _After a few minutes of complex maneuvering, she stopped and stared at him.

Immediately, his eyes flickered up to her, "I did not tell you to stop." Galbatorix jumped to his feet, "Continue, now girl!"

She stood there and watched him for a moment, _What can he really do to me? If he wants me alive, he can't hurt me._

"No, you're right," he said, smirking. "You can defy me all you want, but you're not the only one here, are you?" He continued, muttering under his breath. From beside him, Murtagh threw his hands up to his throat, choking.

"Ack… M.. riah…" he coughed out, his eyes looking at her, pleading.

She tightened her grip on her sword, "Fine!" Mariah shouted to him, throwing her blade out again and following it in a fighting dance she'd learned from Brom. The king sat back down, clearly pleased and released the spell holding Murtagh, who tumbled to the ground, coughing.

"Well, if that's all you have the energy for, I don't suppose I can ask you to use magic for me, can I?" He asked, walking over to her when she was dripping sweat, breathing heavy. Galbatorix lifted her head up with the tips of his fingers, "But I can have you fight an opponent, just to see how well you do worn in battle. Kieran!"

Murtagh stared at Mariah, his eyes a little wide, going pale. He took a step toward her and then hesitated, staring at the back of Galbatorix's head. The boy looked back at her and shook his head, mouthing the words – Be careful.

* * *

After Mark had left for his room, Eragon had wandered about in Tronjheim for a while longer with Saphira, reflecting on the recent events before deicing to turn in for the night. When he returned to his quarters however, a tall woman was waiting for him in the hall. She had dark hair, startling blue eyes, and a wry mouth. Wound around her wrist was a gold bracelet shaped like a hissing snake.

"Argetlam." She curtsied gracefully.

He inclined his head in return. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so. I'm Trianna, sorceress of Du Vrangr Gata."

"Really? A sorceress?" he asked, intrigued.

"And battle mage and spy and anything else that the Varden deem necessary. There aren't enough magic users, so we each end up with a half-dozen tasks. "She smiled, displaying even, white teeth. "That's why I came today. We would be honored to have you take charge of our group. You're the only one who can replace the Twins."

Almost without realizing it, he smiled back. She was so friendly and charming, he hated to say no. "I'm afraid I can't; Saphira and I are leaving Tronjheim soon. Besides, I'd have to consult with Nasuada first anyway." _And I don't want to be entangled in any more politics… especially not where the Twins used to lead._

Trianna bit her lip. "I'm sorry to hear that." She moved a step closer. "Perhaps we can spend some time together before you have to go. I could show you how to summon and control spirits… It would be _educational_ for both of us."

Eragon felt a hot flush warm his face. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm really too busy at the moment."

A spark of anger flared within Trianna's eyes, then vanished so quickly, he wondered whether he had seen it at all. She sighed delicately. "I understand."

She sounded so disappointed – and looked so forlorn – Eragon felt guilty for rebuffing her. _It can't hurt to talk with her for a few minutes, _he told himself. "I'm curious; how did you learn magic?"

Trianna brightened. "My mother was a healer in Surda. She had a bit of power ad was able to instruct me in the old ways. Of course, I'm nowhere near as powerful as a Rider. None of Du Vrangr Gata could have defeated Durza alone, like you did. That was a heroic deed."

Embarrassed, Eragon scuffed his boots against the ground. "I wouldn't have survived if not for Arya."

"You are too modest, Argetlam," she admonished. "It was _you_ who struck the final blow. You should be proud of your accomplishment. It's a feat worthy of Vrael himself." She leaned toward him. His heart quickened as he smelled her perfume, which was rich and musky, with a hint of an exotic spice. "Have you heard the songs composed about you? The Varden sing them every night around their fires. They say you've come to take the throne from Galbatorix!"

"No," said Eragon, quick and sharp. That was one rumor he would not tolerate. "They might, but I don't. Whatever my fate may be, I don't aspire to rule."

"And it's wise of you not to. What is a king, after all, but a man imprisoned by his duties? That would be a poor reward indeed for the last free Rider and his dragon. No, for you the ability to go and do what you will and, by extension, to shape the future of Alagaësia." She paused. "Do you have any family left in the Empire?"

_What? _"Only a cousin… and I suppose I would consider some of my friends family."

"Then you're not betrothed?"

The question caught him off guard. He had never been asked that before. "No, I'm… not betrothed."

"Surely there must be someone you care about." She came another step closer, and her ribboned sleeve brushed his arm.

Mariah. He wanted to say her name, but couldn't seem to find the words. His face burned red again and he faltered, licking his lips as he tried to speak. "I… well… that is… my friend, she-" Then he remembered. Mariah was gone. And it didn't matter anymore. "No… I-"

"What is all this damn noise, people are trying to sleep you know!"

Relieved, he looked over at Mark. Trianna stepped back from him and he blinked, feeling a weight lift off him. "I… was just talking to… to Trianna."

"From Du Vrangr Gata I assume, from that trinket on your arm, you're a sorceress…" Mark looked unamused with her, glancing between the two of them, noting her proximity to the boy. "Eragon, aren't you supposed to be resting for you trip to Ellesméra?"

"Ah… yes. Thank you for reminding me Mark."

He waited and blinked at Eragon, "Well get going."

The Rider jumped a bit and glanced at Trianna, inclining his head. "Nice to meet you." He said, turning and slipping into his room.

Mark waited for a moment before looking back at the sorceress. "You should know better than try to lure such a young man into a trap like that."

"Trap? What do you take me for?"

"Lady, you can hide no secrets from me. He is barely sixteen and knows nothing of women. I can't imagine how his mind must have been reeling." Mark leaned against his doorjamb and smirked at her. "If you were trying to bed the young Rider, you should have thought through your actions a little more. And perhaps had your conversation somewhere more private."

She stared at him, "You were listening. The entire time?" Trianna took his silence for admittance and gaped at him, "Why did you wait so long to intervene?"

"I was merely waiting for a good moment. I had hoped he would ignore your advances, but it didn't happen today. Perhaps he will be more aware in the future of temptresses trying to entice him. And as for Du Vrangr Gata… as Nasuada's new shadow I intend investigating thoroughly." Mark saw her fidget.

Trianna watched him out of her bright blue eyes and blinked. "You are as much a sorcerer as I am… why don't you just take leadership yourself? You're in a position to do so now."

He shook his head, "I don't need that hassle right now. If the group even remains intact, I'll oversee everything in general, but I don't want to lead it, not now."

"What do you mean if the group remains intact?"

"My plans are to disband the group all together… unless something… changes my mind." Mark said to her. "I think we might be able to come to some sort of agreement Trianna… that is, if you want to remain leader of Du Vrangr Gata."

She looked him over for a moment and flicked her hair back out of her face. "Do you know how to summon and control spirits?" Trianna asked, moving in front of him with a smile on her lips.

"Yes. However, I'd like to see how you do so," he said. "It would be educational after all." Mark leaned forward, closing the gap between them and kissing her. She placed her slim hands on his chest and kissed him back, letting him shut the door behind her as they stepped into his room.

* * *

This is nearly a week overdue, I know. I'm sincerely sorry for taking so long.

I know where I want some of this to go. I'm having trouble trying to figure out how to get there. This is to the point where I have sat around for two weeks, thinking through the events in _Eldest_ and know how I want the last chapter to end… it's bad. Some people procrastinate because they don't wanna do it. My problem has always been I over think everything. I have a hard time committing to anything.

All your reviews are EXTREMELY helpful, you don't even know. I like knowing what you want to read. Sometimes I will take your advice literally, other times I will read it and flip it upside down and throw it back at you, just the way you don't want it.

Thank you for your patience.

With Love, As Always,

Mariah & Mark

Mark because without my brother I wouldn't know where I'm going with this story.


	6. Ch 46: Revelations

**Chapter Forty-Six: Revelations**

"You called?"

"Kieran, this girl shall be your opponent this afternoon." Galbatorix said simply, walking back to his chair near Murtagh.

Mariah blinked, staring at the woman who had just walked around the corner. She appeared older than herself, probably on the low end of twenty. Her long brown hair was twisted into a pristine braid. When she spoke her voice sounded like it was dripping with silver, heavy and lustful but shining at the same time.

"The child hardly looks like a match; tell me, what are her qualifications?"

"This girl is a Rider, Kieran. I think she's a contest to your own skills, from what I've seen so far."

"She's the Rider you were going on about?" Kieran looked her over slowly through burning midnight blue eyes. "I don't see what's so special about her… but we'll have to see about that." She moved her gaze back to Murtagh. "It's a pleasure to see you again, I'm sorry our reunion requires a little bloodshed on your companion's behalf but I can assure you this won't take but a minute." He stared back at her, biting his tongue.

Mariah stared at her, standing there in a black and silver armored outfit that she could only think resembled Arya's. There was a Rider's sword at her waist.

"I see you've spotted my weapon," Kieran mused, drawing the blade. "Isn't she gorgeous?" The silver sword had a large opal set into the hilt. "Her name is Eirian… I believe she belonged to an Elvish Rider called Fëanáro…" Her eyes glittered towards Mariah. "I hope you aren't intimidated by her."

"On the contrary… I think your blade is much too pretty to be of any threat."

Kieran watched her for a minute, "We'll just have to see about that, won't we?" Her smile turned feral and she leaped towards Mariah with astounding speed. The sword caught her shoulder, ripping through her skin and muscles with the finality of a razor.

She jumped backwards, clutching the wound and panting.

"As you regain your breath, let me speak with you…" Kieran leaned against her blade, unconcerned and flipped her left hand up, palm facing the sky. With her other hand, she peeled off her black gloves and smiled, flashing a silver circle of skin at Mariah. "I'm intrigued by your presence here… because I never thought I would witness another female Rider. You're certainly not what I expected. When we received news that two dragons were wandering about Alagaësia, I had immediately suspected they were both hatched for male Riders. It is so rare, for some reason, for females to be the ones to fight. We are expected to be quiet, well mannered, sew and clean and do every male's bidding; to bear as many children as our husband desires and become good mothers. Women were never meant to fight. Yet here we stand, swords in hand, bleeding – well… one of us. Stepped from legend when our dragons chose us… out of all the males in the world, they chose you and me. What makes you so special that you would be given this glorious gift? You are nothing but a poor peasant girl. It's understandable that the daughter of Galbatorix, crown princess of Alagaësia would become a Rider… not you. You are weak… and pathetic. I see no reason for you to be here… prove me wrong."

She lunged at her again and Mariah gasped, bringing her sword up and blocking. Glancing down, Mariah saw the dagger at her hip hidden beside her sword's sheath. Dropping her grip on her sword, she forced Kieran to stumble forward, lashing towards the knife. It slipped from its sheath and tightened in her palm. Twisting, Mariah pounced on her and pinned her to the ground, jamming the dagger in her shoulder; turning the blade sharply and digging it deeper until she felt it hit the stone beneath her. The princess cried out in paint and kicked Mariah off. The girl dashed for the silver sword and rolled on the ground, springing back onto her feet and turning around to face the princess.

Kieran stood slowly and glared at her.

"I don't care if you're a goddess or a beggar woman; no one speaks of my upbringing in such a loathsome way. I couldn't be more proud of where I came from. If you wish to continue this fight, I must warn you that you're going to lose."

The princess ripped the dagger from her shoulder and healed it herself, watching Mariah. "You were right father, she is proud, isn't she? If her dragon is anything like she is, he would prove a good mate for Nasreen."

Galbatorix nodded, "As I told you before. You doubted me?"

"Never father, I merely wanted to see her for myself. I wish to have my blade back." Kieran added.

"Mariah, give her back the sword." He insisted, looking over at the younger girl.

She stared between them, her lips parted in shock and surprise. "I…" Mariah set her jaw and threw the sword down on the ground towards Kieran. The princess looked at her with a sneer and retrieved her blade.

"Very good, now that you have been properly tested, we must figure out what to do about your unrelenting spirit." Galbatorix mused for a moment. "Since your mind is so broken that I dare not step foot inside it - swear your fealty to me and you may go to your new quarters."

Mariah shook her head, "I refuse to swear fealty to you or anyone... my life is my own and I shall defend it."

"Must we go through this again?" He flicked his hand towards Murtagh, who flinched. "Though you may not obey, you will defend him, will you not?" Swallowing, she realized there would be no choice in the matter. "Good… now, kneel before me and swear your fealty."

She walked to him slowly, staring at him. Galbatorix flicked his eyes at the ground and she slowly sank to her knee. Mariah took a deep breath and spoke, "I – Mariah, Drag-"

"In the Ancient Language."

Her eyes widened and she stared at the stone floor, mind reeling for a way out of this. From what Brom had told her about Galbatorix in his stories and not, the man had a nearly complete mastery of the Ancient Language. He did not, Brom suspected, know that spells could be cast silently. That didn't help her though, this wasn't a spell. Not in the normal way, at least. Mark would know what to do. What would he do? She glanced at Murtagh and blinked. He was staring at her, clearly concerned. There was no way out and he knew it.

"I'm waiting."

Mariah took a quiet breath, closing her eyes, feeling her soul draining away. "Vel eïnradhin pömnuria ai Shur'tugal, eka malthinae pömnuria líf eom ono un celöbra ono, ebrithil. Pömnuria líf onr thelduin."

* * *

"Eragon," Nasuada said simply, neither friendly nor hostile. Beside her, Mark was looking over a map, his glasses slowly sliding down to the tip of his nose. "I have spent the last few days reviewing the Varden's affairs, such as they are. It was a dismal exercise. We are poor, over-extended, and low on supplies, and few recruits are joining us from the Empire. I mean to change that."

Without looking up, Mark added, "With the dwarves suffering from their own losses, we can't expect them to support us much longer." He placed his finger on the map and looked up at Eragon, "Nasuada has decided to move the Varden to Surda. I'm in full agreement."

"It's a difficult proposition, but one I believe necessary to keep us safe. Once in Surda, we will finally be close enough to engage the Empire directly."

Eragon stared at them, "I thought King Orrin didn't dare openly oppose Galbatorix."

"After our recent victory over the Urgals, he has since change his mind."

"He will shelter and feed us and fight by our side. Many Varden are already in Surda, mainly women and children who couldn't or wouldn't fight," she said. "They will also support us, else I will strip our name from them."

"How did you communicate with King Orrin so quickly?" Eragon asked.

"The dwarves use a system of mirrors and lanterns to relay messages through their tunnels. They can send a dispatch from here t o the western edge of the Beor Mountains in less than a day. Couriers then transport it to Aberon, capital of Surda. Fast as it is, that method is still too slow when Galbatorix can surprise us with an Urgal army and give us less than a day's notice. I intend to arrange something far more expedient between Du Vrangr Gata and Hrothgar's magicians before we go."

Mark was looking back at the map, "Probably some form of scrying… which reminds me. Remember to mention that to me later, I have something to tell you. Not that I don't want you over hearing Nasuada, but I know you have more important things to attend to."

"Thank you, I wasn't concerned." Nasuada said, opening the desk drawer and removing a thick scroll. "The Varden will depart Farthen Dûr within the month. Hrothgar has agreed to provide us with safe passage through the tunnels. Moreover, he sent a force to Orthiad to remove the last vestiges of Urgals and seal the tunnels so no one can invade the dwarves by that route again. As this may not be enough to guarantee the Varden's survival, I have a favor to ask of you."

Eragon nodded. "I am yours to command."

Mark smirked a bit, saying nothing.

"Perhaps." Her eyes flicked to Saphira for a second. "In any case, this is not a command, and I want you to think carefully before replying. To help rally support for the Varden, I wish to spread word throughout the Empire that a new Rider – named Eragon Shadeslayer – and his dragon, Saphira, have joined our cause. I would like your permission before doing so, however."

After a moment of silent discussion with Saphira, Eragon nodded, "Do what you see fit. If this is how we can best assist the Varden, so be it."

"Thank you. I know it is a lot to ask. Now, as we discussed before the funeral, I expect you to travel to Ellesméra and complete your training."

"With Arya?"

"Of course. The elves have refused contact with both humans and dwarves ever since she was captured. Arya is the only being who can convince them to emerge from seclusion."

"Couldn't she use magic to tell them of her rescue?"

"No," Mark said, pausing with his map searching again, "The elves, since the fall of the Riders, have placed wards around Du Weldenvarden that prevents anything from entering it through arcane means – thoughts, items or people – though not from exiting it. That is why Arya could send the dragon eggs out of the forest. In order for any communication to the elves, one must physically visit them. Scrying will not work, because of its magical nature. Queen Islanzadí will not know Arya is still alive until she arrives in person. She will not even know of your existence or anything else that has happened since her capture by Durza. There's probably going to be a lot of questioning, so you should prepare yourself."

Nasuada handed him the scroll, stamped with a wax sigil. "This is a missive for Queen Islanzadí, telling her about the Varden's situation and my own plans. Guard it with your life; it would cause a great deal of harm in the wrong hands. I hope that after all that's happened, Islanzadí will feel kindly enough toward us to reinitiate diplomatic ties. Her assistance could mean the difference between victory and defeat. Arya knows this and has agreed to press our case, but I wanted you aware of the situation too, so you could take advantage of any opportunities that might arise."

Eragon tucked the scroll into his jerkin. "When will we leave?"

"Tomorrow morning… unless you have something already planned?"

"No."

"Good," she clasped her hands. "You should know, one other person will be traveling with you." Eragon blinked and looked at Mark who shook his head. "King Hrothgar insisted that in the interest of fairness there should be a dwarf representative present at your training, since it affects their race as well. So he's sending Orik along."

At the look on Eragon's face, Mark shook his head. "You must understand the situation. I know you wish to arrive as fast as possible and three cannot possibly hope to ride Saphira. You'll just have to be patient… think of it as part of your training Eragon. Please."

"I suppose we have to placate Hrothgar. To tell the truth, I'm glad Orik is coming. Crossing Alagaesia with only Arya was a rather daunting prospect. She's…"

Mark chuckled, "We know. She's different."

The Rider grew serious again after a smile, "Do you really mean to attack the Empire? You said yourself that the Varden are weak. It doesn't seem like the wisest course. If we wait-"

"If we wait, Eragon, Galbatorix will be prepared. Right now, he shouldn't be expecting an attack. He will be concerned that the Varden managed to defeat his forces. The Empire is vulnerable. Should the Varden attack now, his armies won't have time to be readied for invasion." Mark said to him, taking his glasses off.

"And… how do you plan to kill Galbatorix when he flies out to obliterate the army with magic?"

Mark chortled, "That won't happen."

"What makes you so sure," Eragon crossed his arms.

"Because Eragon," Mark said, "In any story that Brom ever made me memorize, any history lesson about the Rider War… Galbatorix never fought unless needed. He would much rather sit on his throne and watch the world tear itself apart; we are ants that he doesn't want to bother wasting the energy to squish. No, not until the day when we march on his castle in Urû'baen and confront him in his throne room will he fight."

"You haven't answered Saphira's question."

Mark looked up at the dragoness and shook his head. "By the time that day comes, our hopes are that you will be powerful enough to defeat him…. that the elves have joined us and their spellcasters aid in our fight. Even if we fail now, we have to try… by not challenging him now, we lay down our swords and submit. I'm not willing to do that, not now."

"But what of you Nasuada?" Asked Eragon, "Will you be safe while we're gone? O must think of my vow. It's become my responsibility to ensure that you won't have your own funeral soon."

Her jaw tightened and Mark turned his gaze to look at her, "You needn't fear, I am well defended." She looked toward the door, motioning to the guards. "I will admit… one reason for going to Surda is that Orrin knows me of old and will offer his protection. I cannot tarry here with you and Arya gone and the Council of Elders still with power. They won't accept me as their leader until I prove beyond doubt that the Varden are under _my_ control, not theirs."

"It's also one reason I'm staying Eragon," Mark told him, "As I said before, I will be of more use here than with you in Ellesméra, simply waiting for you to complete your training. Worrying about Nasuada's safety is one thing you do not need to do. I guard her with my life."

Nasuada picked up her gaze and looked toward Eragon, "Go no. Ready your horse, gather supplies, and be at the north gate by dawn."

The Rider bowed low to her and left with Saphira.

When the door closed, Nasuada looked to Mark, "Are you sure you don't wish to go with him? You wish to see Ellesméra, I know this. Now would be the time to go."

"The time to spend time running across Alagaësia for my own enjoyment will be after this war." He assured her, meeting her gaze. "Not before. I want to stay here with you and help any way I can. Would you like to go over the plans again, one final time before we begin preparing the Varden?"

She shook her head, "We've planned enough."

"If you're certain then, I'll be going…"

"Meet me here later and we'll dine together. I'm tired of not having company and conversation over my meals."

"As you wish," he said, nodding and heading out. The guards parted for him and he shook his head a bit, assuming he'd never get used to that. Mark strode down the staircase in Tronjheim to the surrounding city and mindlessly walked around the streets. A few people seemed to recognize him, or think they did, most simply avoided bumping into him as they went about their day.

Within a month's time everyone here would be packing their homes and traveling to Surda. The traveling would be long and slow, though everyone would be well protected during the first leg of the journey through the dwarves' tunnel system. Since arriving in Tronjheim, his bad Dwarvish was improving, but he was still nowhere near able to carry on a full conversation; Mark made a mental note to find someone willing to teach him more.

Not even realizing why, he ended up standing at the door to a small shop. He blinked and looked over, seeing a woman staring at him. There was a cat curled up on the floor beside her.

"You look familiar," she said, blinking. "I think I once met an elf who looked like you."

"I doubt that," Mark told her, turning around.

"Oh don't leave now; we were just starting our conversation." The woman stood and walked into her store. He blinked, watching her and followed, mostly just curious as to whether or not she was sane. "Where did I put it? Oh, here." She pulled a small glass orb from a drawer and set it on the counter where it floated about an inch from the surface. Swirling around inside it was a faint green glow. "I believe you will find this useful."

"…what is it?" He asked, not touching it yet, looking back at her.

"I have no idea," she said to him brightly.

Mark blinked at the curly brown haired woman dubiously. She must be insane. "Who are you?"

"Angela."

"Well Angela… if I don't know what it does, I don't want it."

"Think it's going to kill you then? Bring bad luck? Doom you?"

"Yes," he said, "It might. You don't even know yourself."

"Ah, but it hasn't killed me yet, so the chances of it harming you are… twelve percent at best."

"Twelve percent exactly?" He smirked a bit.

She nodded. "Take it with you. And don't worry about dropping it – it'll hover over any solid surface… not water though… doesn't much like floating over water."

Mark sighed and took the orb, examining it. The green spinning glow inside was intriguing enough, but the detail work on the glass and silver band around it was intricate. He couldn't make out the letters, they were so small. Reaching for his glasses, he paused, remembering he'd left them in Nasuada's office. "Fine… what do you want for it?"

"It's free Marcus, don't worry about payment."

"I must give you something," he insisted, looking back at the woman.

"Well there is the matter of that potion your sister stole from me in Teirm…" she tapped her lip and he blinked. "Ah, I have it." She said, pointing at him, "I must say it quietly though, wouldn't want wandering ears to catch what I have to say." He sighed and leaned toward her. "I want to kiss an elf."

Mark didn't have time to move before she kissed him. He blinked and stood back up as she cackled. "What?"

"I said it before, didn't I? I once met an elf who looked like you. Now take your green glowing orb and depart. I'm sure you have much to do before Eragon leave in the morning." Angela said to him.

He stared at her, unnerved and watched her walk into the back of her shop. The cat sitting on the counter stared at him a moment before meowing loudly and following the woman. Tucking the orb in the gold pouch at his waist, he headed back for Tronjheim quickly, stopping only when the door to his room was shut and magically locked behind him.

Mark pulled the orb back out and stared at it. The glow had calmed back down and seemed to thicken and form smoke instead of light. "Draumr kópa," he said. The fog solidified into a smooth, glassy disk. A reflection flickered across it as he stared. Eyes that were familiar, like his own, but green. After a brief moment, the orb flickered and dimmed, turning back into green smoke. He went to set the glass down on the table in his room when the light caught the silver around it. "The sun's setting..." He blinked, "I'm supposed to meet with Nasuada. Damnit." Mark stood, hurrying from the room back up the stairs to her office.

The next morning, Mark was waiting at the stables for Eragon, leaning against the open door frame. He flicked his gaze up to the Rider as he approached and pushed off the wall, standing in front of him. "I want you to take Snowfire."

"What? I can't… no, Mark. I couldn't possibly."

"Take him. Not Cadoc. Snowfire is a war horse; he is bold and strong spirited. Cadoc is better off staying and pulling wagons. He isn't as well suited to travel as Snowfire. Please take him with you."

Eragon stared up at him for a moment and finally nodded. Then he shook his head, "He's Mariah horse."

"He's not doing her any good, now is he?" Mark asked rhetorically. "I'd take him myself but Aluora is already mine. I already saddled Snowfire for you anyway."

"Thank you…" he said quietly, going and getting the stallion, leading him out by the reins. He stopped them in the street, looking at Mark.

He sighed and walked to him, setting a hand on his shoulder. "Stay safe. There's nothing I'll be able to do to protect you from now on. You cannot rely on Arya or Orik either. You are alone, know that and keep it in mind. I can't have you dying too."

Eragon stared at him, looking downward. It was the first time either of them had actually said it aloud and it hurt. He didn't dare reach up and wipe at his eyes as they started tearing up.

Mark heard him sniffled a bit and shook his head, pulling him into a hug. It was hard to remember he was only sixteen sometimes. "You are as much my brother as Mariah was my sister. I have nothing left but you… don't make me go through it again. I can't take it again Eragon, I'll kill myself." He choked a bit and pulled back. "Promise…"

"I'll try…" Eragon said to him, blinking once as water slid down his cheek. "Thank you Mark."

"You need to go…"

"Wasn't there something else you were going to tell me… yesterday, in Nasuada's office? About scrying."

"It was nothing," he insisted, smiling a little. "Just that I won't be able to contact you while you're in Du Weldenvarden, as far as I know, that's all..."

He nodded and gripped Snowfire's reins, turning and heading toward the gates.

"Atra esterní ono thelduin…" Mark said, watching his receding figure until he was gone. He wasn't going to mention the last time he tried scrying his sister that he'd managed to catch a glimmer of green eyes. Eragon didn't need that lingering on his mind, not now.

* * *

_My little one, I am glad to see you safe,_ Andrar nuzzled her gently when she was finally led to him. Around his snout and arms were chained imbued with magic to keep him from going anywhere or using any magic. It did appear however, they had healed all his wounds from the previous battles.

Her mind felt better now that she could feel his thoughts swimming in her head. She hugged him around his neck and sighed. "I'm sorry we're in this mess…"

_Do not apologize. If it is anyone's fault it is my own… I am glad to see you well, if oath-bound now._

_I did my best not to allow it to happen._

_You did what you had to, we will find a way. Have you been able to scry your brother?_

_No, I haven't so much as tried._

_The magic here is strong, blocking everything from the outside. Galbatorix has his castle guarded well. _He lifted his head slightly as a scraping noise sounded from behind her. Mariah spun and stared at a deep magenta dragoness landed on the stone courtyard, staring at her.

Kieran leaped down gracefully from her back, "This is Nasreen…" The dragoness must have been nearly twice as large as Andrar, her body was lithe and her neck spikes curved slightly. Where as Saphira was beautiful with her glittering ocean blue scales, her body seemed less defined than this one's. At first glance, even a color-blind person would have noted the way she held her head and tail to be feminine. "I have been given orders to release your dragon, since you are now oath bound. Though I implore you remember Murtagh's life will be threatened should either of you try or do anything. I've also been given permission to kill you if necessary. Galbatorix would much rather have a dead dragon than one opposing him." She walked over, calling on her magic and uttering words to break the chains around Andrar.

He immediately snarled at her and flicked his tail, drawing Mariah underneath his foreleg. Nasreen hissed and bounded to her Rider's side, snapping towards him with razor like fangs. She puffed and red-pink flames spurted from her maw, daring him to threaten Kieran again. He snapped his mouth shut and shifted his wing, leaving her to stand up proudly again with satisfaction.

"Why have I not heard your name before? Or of the fact there is another dragon alive?" Mariah asked her, setting a hand on Andrar's side.

"Because," Mariah flicked her gaze behind her to see Murtagh walking toward them. "Galbatorix wouldn't want anyone trying to kill her. She's his secret weapon."

"I also never heard of the king having married, let alone having children." She said, looking at him as he stopped close by.

"What makes you think he married? No, the king is not the loving type, if you have not noticed. Kieran is simply the product of a pretty maid and his own lust." Murtagh looked towards the woman, "Where is your sister?"

"She has a sister?"

"Twin sister, actually," she said to her, keeping her gaze on Murtagh. "She left… is hunting probably. I can't say I care whether she comes back or not. You see," she turned to Mariah, "…my little sister and I are very much different. I always was the special one… when Nasreen hatched for me there wasn't any doubt left. My sister is… well, not."

"You never said anything about Galbatorix having children. You said the Forsworn never had any other children that you knew about. You clearly know about her… and her sister?"

He sighed, leaning against the wall, "Galbatorix isn't of the Forsworn."

"No, he only led them!"

"Calm down Mariah," Murtagh insisted. "I couldn't say anything to you, and even if I could have, I wouldn't have before…"

"Well why not? A warning would have been nice you know – that there might be more Riders, especially ones that want to kill us."

He shook his head, "I am sworn to secrecy about their existence. No one is allowed to know they are his daughters… most of the guards don't even know. They believe she is a maid's daughter who happened to get too close to one of the dragon eggs and it hatched. Galbatorix took her away and oversaw her training since then."

"That's another thing," she said, looking at Nasreen, "I thought there were only two eggs left in Galbatorix's possession."

"Also wrong," Kieran smirked. "Especially after the thieves stole that damn blue egg, why would he stop looking? Since he took power, Galbatorix has stockpiled Rider weapons, eggs… he has a half dozen of them now. I myself have recovered a few."

"…he has six?"

"Plus the other two, so eight." Murtagh said bitterly. "Also sworn to secrecy about, sorry Mariah."

She stared between them and leaned into Andrar, quite unable to believe what she was hearing. For as long as she'd lived Brom had told her there were only three dragon eggs in existence. One – the blue egg- being ferried by the elves… and two in Galbatorix's castle – green and red. Never, did she think for a moment there could be more. "I… what does he plan to do with them?"

"Force them to hatch. He needs generals for his army, does he not? The Forsworn needs thirteen. I'm one. You make two…" Kieran smirked, "With the other eight eggs, that's ten… your companion with the blue dragon would make eleven. I'm sure there must be more eggs hidden in Alagaësia waiting to be found. I intend to get them all. And in the meantime, Nasreen is nearly old enough to breed. She could easily conceive a clutch of eggs and double the numbers we already have."

"That's why you want Saphira… and Andrar…"

"Mostly the female… but having another male to throw into the gene pool won't be bad."

"That still doesn't solve the matter of whether or not the eggs would hatch."

"Galbatorix is working on a way to fix that now… he's planning to force the dragons to hatch and bind them to Riders."

"No one can force an egg to hatch."

"He's going to try."

"If he fails, he'll kill them."

Kieran nodded, "Which is why he practices on bird and lizard eggs…"

"They're nowhere near the same thing." She said venomously.

Murtagh pushed off the wall and looked at Mariah, stopping her from getting too heated up, "We have to get inside. I had a messenger come from Galbatorix to have us sent to dinner…"

"I'm not hungry."

"You have to eat something anyway, especially after fighting like that all day, c'mon." He said, waiting for her.

She hesitated and looked at Kieran for a moment, then Andrar. _I shall be fine here little one, we are connected now and I shall be with you. Stay with Murtagh and be safe._ Mariah sighed a bit and followed after him, turning her back on Kieran as they walked. Murtagh said nothing as they entered the castle, flanked by guards who then escorted them to the dining hall they had been in earlier that day.

They sat down in the same spots they had earlier and waited silently. Galbatorix entered, followed by Kieran. She smirked at them and sat across from Murtagh, smiling at him. The king moved to the head of the table and observed the three of them. "You have showed promise with your fighting abilities, you were taught well, and even if I despise your style it is effective."

Mariah said nothing, meeting his gaze.

He smirked a little at her, staring into her soul, "Though you have sworn an oath to me, and I believe you to be under my orders… to ensure your complete obedience, tomorrow you will go with my soldiers and the Ra'zac north."

"North," she said, "…what for?"

"Kieran will go with you. She has permission to do whatever she deems necessary to make certain you're bound to the Empire now. And if you attempt to escape, you'd best think better of it, because if you don't return with Kieran, consider your companion dead."

Mariah stared at him and looked at Murtagh. "Where are you sending us?" She asked again slowly.

Kieran let out a chuckle. "Carvahall."

* * *

_Vel eïnradhin pömnuria ai Shur'tugal, eka malthinae pömnuria líf eom ono un celöbra ono, ebrithil. Pömnuria líf onr thelduin._ - Upon my word as a Rider, I bind my life to you and honor you, master. My life is yours to command/rule over.

_Draumr kópa_ – Dream Stare (scrying spell)

_Atra esterní ono thelduin_. - May good fortune rule over you.

A little bit shorter of a chapter, but I don't want to put in anything more for now… this is enough.

There's a lot of new things I'm trying to work into the story… lots getting revealed. If you notice a loophole in my plot, please mention it. I'll try and figure out the best way to address the problem.

Do you like Kieran? Or at least, the idea of having her in the story?

**Kieran** means 'dark or black', **Eirian** means 'silver' and **Nasreen** means 'wild rose'

I'm going to be away this weekend, so this is your gift - an early chapter because I won't have any time to work on it this weekend. Feel free to ask me any questions you have about the story or comment on how you think it's going!

With Love, As Always,

Mariah


	7. Ch 47: Carvahall

**Chapter Forty-Seven: Carvahall**

After dinner they had been escorted back to the west wing of the castle. They were given new rooms that connected through double doors in the wall. They both were as immaculate as the first, though much more accommodating with food and drinks on a table near the crackling fireplace. When the guards closed the doors to Mariah's room, Murtagh lingered nearby for a moment.

"Anything you want to talk about?" He asked, running his finger over the top of a dresser.

She sighed, sitting on the edge of her bed, forcing a crushed red velvet blanket to crease, "Why didn't you tell me before, about any of this? I trust you Murtagh, with my life. You saved me, Mark and Eragon more times than I care to count yet you still hide things from me."

"It wasn't my wish to hide anything, especially not from you." Murtagh admitted, glancing over. "Your brother was right to be suspicious of me."

"Of course, he has a natural talent for recognizing when people are lying," Mariah said.

"That's probably because he too is a frequent liar." He paused, "Kieran and her sister are not a surprise to me, no. When I was younger, growing up in the castle I often played with them, they were like my own sisters. We are close to the same age and though they are technically princesses, they weren't raised in seclusion. As I said before, only a handful of people are allowed to know of their existence and even fewer of their ranking. It was only after I turned ten that I found out about their royal lineage. That day Galbatorix made me swear never to tell anyone what I knew. He insisted it was important and I didn't question it. Then, when Nasreen hatched for Kieran two years ago, I was sworn to secrecy again. Never to tell a living soul about the new dragon or the fact her Rider was a daughter of Galbatorix. I couldn't tell you about them until after you already knew. I'm very sorry."

Mariah looked up at him, "That wouldn't have been your fault then… since you were unable to tell us about them."

"If I could have," he insisted. "They're extremely dangerous." She rubbed her eyes, sighing heavily. "Mariah… tomorrow you'll be going with them. Don't do anything that would put you in harm's way. Come back alive and we'll find a way out of this."

"It's my home, Murtagh… he wants me to destroy the one place I care about most…"

He watched her, "I have never had anywhere I would specifically call my home… so I can't say I know how that feels. But having something you care about being taken away from you is painful… and I'm sorry. If there was anything I could do to help, you know I would."

"…what oath did you swear to the king when you arrived?"

"Several, I couldn't rename them all if I tried." She bit her lip, feeling her eyes tear up. "Mariah look at me." She snapped her head up, staring at him. "I'm sorry."

"I know you are." Mariah said, looking at him. No matter how hard he tried to make his face sympathetic, his eyes betrayed more sorrow than he could express. He truly was sorry for what had happened.

He shook his head, "Come back after your trip alive, that's all that matters to me right now. You should sleep… I probably won't see you in the morning. Good night."

"Night…" she muttered, watching the door close behind him. After waiting several minutes, trying to be sure no one was around to listen and that Murtagh was indeed asleep. Mariah slipped off her bed and trotted to the mirror hanging above a table on the wall. "Draumr kópa." She whispered, trying her hardest to scry her brother. The mirror seemed to swirl with black for a moment before dissipating; the only thing visible in the mirror was herself.

After a minute of self-pity she tried again, with Eragon, "Draumr kópa." Watching the mirror turn black, it stayed like that a moment before flickering with sparks, then returning to its normal state. Andrar was right, the magic around Urû'baen wouldn't let her scry anyone. Sighing, Mariah turned and sat on the floor, burying her face in her hands and crying.

In the morning, she woke up on the floor, sore and exhausted. The incessant banging forced her to wake just before Kieran burst into her room. "You were supposed to be up an hour ago, get ready we're leaving soon." She snapped, turning on her heel.

Mariah watched her walk back out and stood, searching the room for clothes. She found a better set of clothes in a large decorated wardrobe, resembling the ones she'd left The Varden in, and changed quickly. The black belt settled on her hips, though she felt naked without a blade at her side. Walking into the hallway, she came to a sudden halt as Murtagh and Kieran were arguing loudly.

"That means you lied to me!"

"You lie to me all the time, what does it matter if I do it once?" Kieran asked, heading for the staircase, her heels clicking on the stone floor.

He followed after her with long strides, his face red, "No. This is different, you know it's different. You told me she was out hunting or something. I know you don't particularly care about her, but lying about her absence?"

She wheeled about on the stairs to face him, looking down at the man, "I wasn't about to tell you she ran away and father was tracking her down. She should have known better than to leave, but no. Left right after you, she did. I assumed once we found you she'd be nearby, but I was wrong. When father does catch her, you know what he's going to do?"

"Don't-" Murtagh insisted quickly.

Kieran pressed a finger into his chest, "He's going to torture her for an answer as to why she left, search her mind so vigorously she won't even remember what she looks like. And after he gets every last drop of information out of her, he's going to kill her for trying to leave. That is what I lied to you about Murtagh - it was for your own benefit." She spat, walking up the stairs.

He stood at the foot of the staircase and watched her ascend, looking as if he was about to be sick. When he wheeled about to go back to his room, he saw Mariah standing there. He faltered for a moment before clearing his throat.

"Kendra hates them both..." Murtagh explained, "Kieran's sister. I… left last year and hadn't told her. I've always regretted it, but I was too frightened to say anything aloud where Galbatorix might be listening." He blinked, meeting her gaze. "Go with Kieran, you're going to be late." Without a word, he walked off, leaving Mariah to only follow the princess.

"Good, now that you're here, I'm going to properly outfit you," Kieran said, having waited for her in the room above the staircase. "Follow."

Mariah did as she said, rolling her eyes a bit and trotting after the woman. Her heels were becoming annoying with their clicking against the stone. They arrived at the armory where she allowed her to pick out a sword. Mariah quickly glanced over the weapons before snatching a slim long sword with a good grip, not quite a rapier, but close. She also picked up a dagger and tied both sheaths to her waist.

"You'll be in need of armor as well. You do wear armor, right?" Kieran asked her, raising an eyebrow. She herself was already wearing the ornate outfit Mariah had met her in. The silver chest plate formed around her breasts with intricate details and jewels embedded in the metal, ending with her ribcage, leaving a gap between the bottom and her waistline. Her pauldrons, greaves and vambraces all decorated with the same swirling designs. Under her armor she wore a fine silver chainmail dress; a belt wrapping around her hips, with tassets on her thighs, covered her pelvis with a deep purple piece of fabric draping down past her knees. The black boots underneath her greaves had a fairly thin four inch heel on them.

"Sometimes…" she said warily, definitely not wanting to wear anything of the princesses'.

Kieran looked her over a moment before walking her into a separate room nearby the armory. "Choose whatever you like. I don't know how much you'll find, but you will need something. Perhaps Galbatorix will have a set made for you by the time you return."

If anyone else had suggested such a thing she would have been ecstatic, however the thought of being given such a gift by the king made her feel ill. Especially because armor was to be used in battle and she had no want to fight anyone for him.

Finally her eyes landed on a leather skirt. The leather strips were studded and overlapped each other when worn by the belt they were attached to. Mariah quickly wound it over her hips and buckled it tight. She found a pair of leather vambraces that seemed to be small enough for her nearby a similar pair of greaves. Though all leather, none of it matched. She would have to make due without a breastplate, seeing as there was no female equipment in the room. When she turned to Kieran however, the woman was holding onto a thick leather corset. Mariah shook her head. "I'm not wearing that."

"I have nothing else for you to wear, so you'd best put it on." She threw it to her and Mariah caught it instinctively. Sighing a bit she wrapped the corset over her torso and started lacing it up the sides tightly. Taking a deep breath to make sure it wasn't too snug, she nodded. "I don't need anymore than this… too much heavy armor weighs me down."

"Fair enough, now come, we have to go before it gets much later." She said, turning and striding out of the room, holding onto her sword with her left hand.

* * *

Light burst into the tunnel as the doors dragged open. Eragon winced, is eyes sorely unaccustomed to daylight after so long underground. Beside him, Saphira hissed and arched her neck to get a better view of their surroundings.

It had taken the m two days to traverse the subterranean passage from Farthen Dûr, though it felt longer to Eragon, due to the never ending dusk that surrounded them and the silence it had imposed upon their group. In all, he could recall only a handful of words being exchanged during their journey, aside from the ceremony in which he had taken part – effectively becoming an adopted member of Orik and Hrothgar's clan, Dûrgrimst Ingeitum. The first time any human had been offered such a position.

Eragon had hoped to learn more about Arya while they traveled together, but the only information he had gleaned came simply as a result of observation. He had not supped with her before and was startled to see that she brought her own food and ate no meat. When he asked her why, she said, 'You will never again consume an animal's flesh after you have been trained, or if you do, it will be only on the rarest of occasions."

"Why should I give up meat?" he scoffed.

"I cannot explain with words, but you will understand once we reach Ellesméra."

All that was forgotten now as he hurried to the threshold, eager to see their destination. He found himself standing on a granite outcropping, more than a hundred feet above a purple-hued lake, brilliant under the eastern sun. Like Kóstha-mérna, the water reached from mountain to mountain, filling the valley's end. From the lake's far side, the Âz Ragni flowed north, winding between the peaks until – in the far distance – it rushed out onto the eastern plains.

To his right, the mountains were bare, save for a few trails, but to his left… to his left was the dwarf city Tarnag. Here the dwarves had reworked the seemingly immutable Beors into a series of terraces. The lower terraces were mainly farms – dark curves of land waiting to be planted – dotted with squat halls, which at best he could tell were built entirely of stone. Above those empty levels rose tier upon tier of interlocking buildings until they culminated in a giant dome of gold and white. It was as if the entire city was nothing more than a line of steps leading to the dome. The cupola glistened like polished moonstone, a milky bead floating atop a pyramid of gray slate.

Orik anticipated Eragon's question, saying, "That is Celbedeil, the greatest temple of dwarfdom and home of Dûrgrimst Quan – the Quan clan – who act as servants and messengers to the gods."

"Do they rule Tarnag?" Eragon asked for Saphira.

"Nay," said Arya, stepping past them. "Though the Quan are strong, they are small in numbers, despite their power over the afterlife… an gold. It is the Ragni Hefthyn – the River Guard – who control Tarnag. We will stay with their clan chief, Ûndin, while here."

As they followed the elf off the outcropping and through the gnarled forest that blanketed the mountain, Orik whispered to Eragon, "Mind her not. She has been arguing with the Quan for many a year. Every time she visits Tarnag and speaks with a priest, it produces a quarrel fierce enough to scare a Kull."

"Arya?"

Orik nodded grimly. "I know little of it, but I've heard she disagrees strongly with much that the Quan practice. It seems that elves do not hold with 'muttering into the air for help'."

Eragon stared at Arya's back as they descended, wondering if Orik's words were true, and if so, what Arya herself believed. He took a deep breath, pushing the matter from his mind. It felt wonderful to be back in the open, where he could smell the moss and ferns and trees of the forest, where the sun was warm on his face and bees and other insects swarmed pleasantly. It reminded him of Carvahall and Palancar Valley so far away.

The path took them down to the edge o the lake before rising back toward Tarnag and its open gates. "How have you hidden Tarnag from Galbatorix?" asked Eragon. "Farthen Dûr I understand, but this… I've never seen anything like it."

Orik laughed softly. "Hide it? That would be impossible. No, after the Riders fell, we were forced to abandon all our cities above ground and retreat into our tunnels in order to escape Galbatorix and the Forsworn. They would often fly through the Beors, killing anyone who they encountered."

"I thought that dwarves always lived underground."

Orik's thick eyebrows met in a frown. "Why should we? We may have an affinity for stone, but we like the open air as much as elves or humans. However, it has only been in the last decade and a half, ever since Morzan died, that we have dared return to Tarnag and other of our ancient dwellings. Galbatorix may be unnaturally powerful and his dragon could cause us no end of trouble if they wanted, but these days they rarely leave Urû'baen, even for short trips. Nor could Galbatorix bring an army here without first defeating Buragh or Farthen Dûr."

Cresting a small mound, Eragon jolted with surprise as an animal crashed through the underbrush and onto the path. The scraggly creature looked like a mountain goat from the Spine, except that it was a third larger and had giant ribbed horns that curled around its cheeks, making an Urgal's seem no bigger than a swallow nest. Odder still was the saddle lashed across the goat's back and the dwarf seated firmly on it, aiming a half-drawn bow into the air.

"Hert dûrgrimst? Fild rastn?"shouted the strange dwarf.

"Orik Thrifkz menthiv oen Hrethcarach Eragon rak Dûrgrimst Ingeitum," answered Orik. "Wharn, az vanyali-carharug Arya. Ne oc Ûndinz grimstbelardn." The goat stared warily at Saphira. Eragon noted how bright and intelligent its eyes were, though its face was rather droll with its frost beard and somber expression. It reminded him of Hrothgar, and he almost laughed, thinking how very dwarfish the animal was.

"Azt jok jordn rast," came the reply.

With no discernible command on the dwarf's part, the goat leaped forward, covering such an extraordinary distance it seemed to take flight for a moment. Then rider and steed vanished between the trees.

"What was that?" asked Eragon, amazed.

Orik resumed walking. "A Feldûnost, one of the five animals unique to these mountains. A clan is named after each one. However, Dûrgrimst Feldûnost is perhaps the bravest and most revered of the clans."

"Why so?"

"We depend upon Feldûnost for milk, wool, and meat. Without their sustenance, we could not live in the Beors. When Galbatorix and his traitorous Riders were terrorizing us, it was Dûrgrimst Feldûnost who risked themselves – and still do – to tend the herds and fields. As such, we are all in their debt."

"Do all dwarves ride Feldûnost?" He stumbled slightly over the unusual word.

"Only in the mountains. Feldûnost are hardy and sure-footed, but they are better suited for cliffs than open plains."

Saphira nudged Eragon with her nose, causing Snowfire to shy away. _Now those would be good hunting, better than any I had in the Spine or hence! If I have time in Tarnag-_

_No,_ he said. _We can't afford to offend the dwarves._

She shorted, irritated. _I could ask permission first._

Now the path that had concealed them for so long under dark boughs entered the great clearing that surrounded Tarnag. Groups of observers had already begun to gather in the fields when seven Feldunost with jeweled harnesses bounded out from the city. Their riders bore lances tipped with pennants that snapped like whips In the air. Reining in his strange beast, the lead dwarf said, "Thou art well-come to this city of Tarnag. By otho of Ûndin and Gannel, I, Thorv, son of Brokk, offer in peace the shelter of our halls." His accent grumbled and rasped with a rough burr quite unlike Orik's.

"And by Hrothgar's otho, we of the Ingeitum accept your hospitality," responded Orik.

* * *

The flight was long, and she fell asleep mid-flight more than once from pure exhaustion. The countryside she had once favored so much made her stomach flip and contort in pain. Kieran had made a straight path from Urû'baen to Carvahall, bypassing Gil'ead, Daret and even Yazuac by a few leagues. The empty fields of the Empire were dotted with nothing but herds of elk and deer being followed by wolf packs. They stopped only a few times during the flight, effectively making a trip that would have lasted weeks on horseback only a three days' journey. Stops included time for the dragons to rest and eat, allowing Nasreen to show off her hunting skills for Andrar. With blinding speed she would fall out of the sky like a shadow and rip into the largest animal of a herd, crushing its entire back in one bite of her massive jaws. She would devour her kill swiftly while keeping eye contact with the male dragon, who tried his best to avoid her piercing gaze.

_She's showing you just how much of an advantage she has over you, if we decide to run. _Mariah realized after a few instances.

_Yes. _He admitted tightly, _More than that even._

_What do you mean?_ Mariah asked, but he said nothing more, going to sleep for the few hours Kieran allowed him.

When her eyes fell upon Carvahall, she nearly threw up in her saddle. The valley was well into summer with colorful flowers and green grass. Any other time she would have cried out of sheer happiness, but Kieran flying beside her on Nasreen made the experience less than enjoyable. The dragons landed near the forest discreetly and waited. Mariah didn't have long to guess why they were, for two figures soon walked toward them. She tensed and stared at the two Ra'zac as they spoke with Kieran. She talked with them quickly before they turned and headed back toward Carvahall.

"…what are they doing here?" She asked, watching them leave.

Kieran adjusted her sword on her hip, "The soldiers set fire to the barn a few nights ago, I gathered, in a drunken stupor. Coming here was an attempt to get to you and your rider friend to join us. He has a cousin, right? That's what I managed to gather at least."

"…" Mariah watched her, swallowing any names that popped into her head.

She sighed, "Either way, the town's become a nuisance. After the fire, the townspeople have started attacking my soldiers. The Ra'zac have given them a choice – to hand over the cousin or die. I think you may be able to spare the rest of the town's life if you go down and convince him to come with us."

"And if I don't?"

"I'm burning the whole town to the ground, of course."

"You can't…" she said, "This is my home, you can't." Mariah said to her, feeling her chest tighten.

Kieran walked to her, placing a finger on her lips, "Don't tell me what I can and cannot do. If I say burn it to the ground, I will. Or would you rather I tell you to go down and capture every single person and kill them by hand?" Mariah shivered and started crying silently as the woman caressed her cheek. "I thought so. You may rest the remainder of the night." Kieran told her, sitting down next to her dragon.

_Sleep my darling, we shall figure this out come morning._ Andrar insisted, wrapping his tail around his Rider, leading her into a restless sleep.

Just before the sun rose and the sky started lightening, she heard Kieran let out a snarl. Mariah looked up and watched her stiffen. Peering through the darkness, her lips pulled back, revealing her teeth.

Pushing up next to her, Mariah stared. Her gaze lingered on burned buildings and her heart jumped, hoping no one had been killed in whatever fire had caused it. The rest of the town looked like a war zone, upturned wagons and boarded up windows everywhere. A trench was cut into the earth around the village, felled trees helping form a barricade.

"It was not like this yesterday," the princess growled. "They were supposed to submit, not fortify their little village. You are going now. If you do not convince him to come with us, I will burn it to the ground."

Mariah swallowed and turned to climb on Andrar's back. She paused and looked at her dragon before twisting back to Kieran, "I will do it on my own terms. And I will convince him in whatever way I deem fit. If you interfere there will be no chance of me succeeding."

"Fine," she snapped. "Go. Do it quickly, before the day is over."

She untied her sword from her belt and dropped it at her feet, pulling the knife from her boot as well. Mariah removed any armor she'd been given and left it on the ground. Kneeling down, she re-laced both her boots and adjusted the belt around her waist, her gaze never leaving the village. Taking a deep breath, she started down the hill toward Carvahall.

* * *

After resting a while and feasting with the new clan of dwarves, the leader Grimstborith Gannel offered to show Eragon the temple – Celbedeil - the day after their arrival. After consulting Orik, he took the dwarf up on his offer and followed him inside the temple at the top tier of the city, bringing Zar'roc with him at Saphira's urging.

His first impression was of color. A burning-green sward splayed around the pillared mass of Celbedeil, like a mantle dropped over the symmetrical hill that upheld the temple. Ivy strangled the building's ancient walls in foot after foot of hairy ropes, dew swill glittering on the pointed leaves. And curving above all but the mountains was the great white cupola ribbed with chiseled gold.

His next impression was of smell. Flowers and incense mixed their perfumes into an aroma so ethereal, Eragon felt as if he could live on the scent alone.

Last was sound, for despite clumps of priests strolling along mosaic pathways and spacious grounds, the only noise Eragon could discern was the soft thump of a rook flying overhead.

The dwarf beckoned again and strode down the main avenue toward Celbedeil. As they passed under its eaves, Eragon could only marvel at the wealth and craftsmanship displayed around him. The walls were spotted with gems of every color and cut – though all flawless – and red gold had been hammered into the veins lacing the stone ceilings, walls, and floor. Pearls and silver provided accents. Occasionally, they passed a screen partition carved entirely of jade.

The temple was devoid of cloth decorations. In their absence, the dwarves had carved a profusion of statues, many depicting monsters and deities locked in epic battles.

After climbing several floors, they passed through a copper door waxy with verdigris and embossed with intricate, patterned knots into a bare room floored with wood. Armor hung thickly on the walls, along with racks of staff-swords identical to the one Angela had fought with in Farthen Dûr.

Gannel was there, sparring with three younger dwarves. The clan chief's robe was tucked up over his thighs so he could move freely, his face a fierce scowl as the wood shaft spun in his hands, unsharpened blades darting like riled hornets.

Two dwarves lunged at Gannel, only to be stymied in a clatter of wood and metal as he spun past them, rapping their knees and heads and sending them to the floor. Eragon grinned as he watched Gannel disarm his last opponent in a brilliant flurry of blows.

At last the clan chief noticed Eragon and dismissed the other dwarves. As Gannel set his weapon on a rack, Eragon said, "Are all Quan so proficient with the blade? It seems an odd skill for priests."

Gannel faced him. "We must be able to defend ourselves, no? Many enemies stalk this land."

Eragon nodded. "Those are unique swords. I've never seen their like, except for one an herbalist used in the battle of Farthen Dûr."

The dwarf sucked in his breath, then let it hiss out between his teeth. "Angela." His expression soured. "She won her staff from a priest in a game of riddles. It was a nasty trick, as we are the only ones allowed to use hûthvirn. She and Arya…" He shrugged and went to a small table, where he filled two mugs with ale. Handing one to Eragon, he said, "I invited you here today at Hrothgar's request. He told me that if you accepted his offer to become Ingeitum, I was to acquaint you with the dwarf traditions."

Eragon sipped the ale and kept silent, eying how Gannel's thick brow caught the light, shadows dripping down his cheeks from the bony ridge.

The clan chief continued: "Never before has an outsider been taught our secret beliefs, nor may you speak of them to human or elf. Ney without this knowledge, you cannot uphold what it means to be knurla. You are Ingeitum now: our blood, our flesh, our honor. You understand?"

"I do."

"Come." Keeping his ale in hand, Gannel took Eragon from the sparring room and conveyed him through five grand corridors, stopping them in the archway to a dim chamber hazy with incense. Facing them, the squat outline of a statue swelled ponderously from the floor to ceiling, a faint light cast across the brooding dwarf face hacked with uncharacteristic crudeness from brown granite.

"Who is he?" asked Eragon, intimidated.

"Gûntera, King of the Gods. He is a warrior and a scholar, though fickle in his moods, so we burn offerings to assure his affection at the solstices, before sowing, and at deaths and births." Gannel twisted his hand in a strange gesture and bowed to the statue. "It is to him we pray before battles, for he molded this land from the bones of a giant and gives the world its order. All realms are Gûntera's."

Then Gannel instructed Eragon how to properly venerate the god, explaining the signs and words that were used for homage. He elucidated the meaning of the incense – how it symbolized life and happiness – and spent long minutes, recounting legend s about Gûntera, how the god was born fully formed to a she-wolf at the dawn of stars, how he had battled monsters and giants to win a place for his kin in Alagaësia, and how he had taken Kílf, the goddess of rivers and the sea, as his mate.

Next they went to Kílf's statue, which was carved with exquisite delicacy out of pale blue stone. Her hair flew back in liquid ripples, rolling down her neck and framing merry amethyst eyes. In her hands, she cupped a water lily and a chunk of porous red rock that Eragon did not recognize.

"What is that?" he asked, pointing.

"Coral taken from deep within the sea that borders the Beors."

"Coral?" He asked, the word sounding familiar yet foreign.

Gannel took a draught of ale, then said, "Our divers found it while searching for pearls. It seems that, in brine, certain stones like to grow plants."

Eragon stared with wonder. He had never thought of pebbles or boulders as alive, yet here was proof that all they needed was water and salt to flourish. It finally explained how rocks had continued to appear in their fields in Palancar Valley, even after the soil had been combed clean each spring. _They grew!_

They proceeded to Urûr, master of the air and heavens, and his brother Morgothal, god of fire. At the carmine statue of Morgothal, the priest told how the brothers loved each other so much, neither could exist independently. Thus, Morgothal's burning place in the sky during the day, and the sparks from his forge that appeared overhead every night. And also thus, how Urûr constantly fed his sibling so he would not die. Only two more gods were left after that: Sindri – mother of the earth – and Helzvog.

Helzvog's statue was different from the rest. The nude god was bowed in half over a dwarf-sized lump of gray flint, caressing it with the tip of his forefinger. The muscles of his back bunched and knotted with inhuman strain, yet his expression was incredibly tender, as if a newborn child lay before him.

Gannel's voice dropped to a low rasp: Gûntera may be King of the Gods, but it is Helzvog who holds our hearts. It was he who felt that the land should be peopled after the giants were vanquished. The other gods disagreed, but Helzvog ignored them and, in secret, formed the first dwarf from the roots of a mountain. When his deed was discovered, jealousy swept the gods and Gûntera created elves to control Alagaësia for himself. Then Sindri brought forth humans from the soil, and Urûr and Morgothal combined their knowledge and released dragons into the land. Only Kílf restrained herself. So the first races entered this world."

Eragon absorbed Gannel's words, accepting the clan chief's sincerity but unable to quell a simple question: _How does he know?_ Eragon sensed that it would be an awkward query, however, and merely nodded as he listened.

"This," said Gannel, finishing the last of his ale, "leads to our most important rite, which I know Orik has discussed with you… All dwarves must be buried in stone, else our spirits will never join Helzvog in his hall. We are not of the earth, air, or fire, but of _stone_. And as Ingeitum, it is your responsibility to assure a proper resting place for any dwarf who may die in your company. If you fail – in the absence of injury or enemies – Hrothgar will exile you, and no dwarf will acknowledge your presence until after your death." He straightened his shoulders, staring hard at Eragon. "You have much more to learn, yet uphold the customs I outlined today and you will do well."

"I won't forget," said Eragon.

* * *

_Elvish  
_

Draumr kópa - Dream stare (spell used for scrying)

_Dwarvish_

Kóstha-mérna - Foot Pool (a lake)

Âz Ragni - The River

Hert dûrgrimst? - What clan?

Fild rastn?- Who passes?

Orik Thrifkz menthiv oen Hrethcarach Eragon rak Dûrgrimst Ingeitum.- Orik, Thrifk's son, and Shadeslayer Eragon of Clan Ingeitum.

Wharn, az vanyali-carharug Arya. - Also, the elf-courier Arya.

Ne oc Ûndinz grimstbelardn. - We are Ûndin's hall-guests.

Azt jok jordn rast. - Then you may pass.

Grimstborith - Clan chief

hûthvirn - dwarvish bladed staff weapon

knurla - dwarf (literally: one of stone)

otho - faith_  
_

* * *

So... much DWARVISH... I am now proficient! Not... really, but close.

I'm sorry this was so much straight from the book, but I feel like I didn't have much of a choice.

I had such a hard time with this chapter. I want to write about Mariah in Carvahall, but I really don't want to get into anything with what Roran's doing right now. That would be SO much copying, since none of my characters are there. His parts are spaced out so much through the book that it's difficult to get through the Carvahall story arc without drastic skips to Eragon's story, and in turn Mark's. To space it out better, I'm going to have to write about Eragon and Co. Also, I liked this chapter with all the stuff about the dwarves' history. I think it's fairly important even if Paolini doesn't ever use much of it again...

And no Mark, because… all he's doing is planning with Nasuada. I promise he'll be in the next chapter, at least a little.

Thank you so much for all your reviews... and yes - I do try my hardest not to have errors in my writing. When I'm copying passages quickly, my fingers do slip sometimes and I make mistakes. It happens. My brother often catches them where I don't... because he has me read everything aloud and does the male voices for me.

Last thing: Rocks do not grow out of the ground Eragon… you freakin' moron.

With Love, As Always,

Mariah


	8. Ch 48: Clarity and Confusion

**Chapter Forty-Eight: Clarity and Confusion**

Mariah held her breath, slipping between buildings like a sneak thief. Never in her life did she believe she would have to hide and snake her way through her own home village. In a half crouch, she waited, watching familiar faces running back and forth through the streets, listening to the shouts of voices she knew all too well. Her heart beat harder with every word. She had to find Roran. All in all, she was too embarrassed, too scared to show her face to anyone else. It was her fault this was happening and she felt too guilty to do anything else.

It started growing darker, the sun nearly set when she saw a familiar figure step out of a house nearby. Mariah tensed, putting her weight on the balls of her feet before springing forward with lightning speed, grabbing his arm and half throwing him into an alley before anyone could follow him and interrupt.

She should have expected it, but the punch to her face sent her flying back into the wall. They were all on high alert because of the Ra'zac and the Empire's soldiers, the reflex was natural. Mariah didn't think Roran could punch that hard. He tightened his grip on something sharp in his hand and she choked out a slight yelp.

"Wait-" she panted, rubbing the corner of her mouth, which was fresh with blood. "Roran. Don't."

He paused, squinting a bit. "…Mariah?"

Relieved, she let out a sigh, getting to her feet and stepping closer to him. "Stay quiet, please."

"What are you doing here?"

"It's a long story, I don't have much time."

He put his weapon back through his belt loop – a hammer. She smiled a little, finding it fitting for a blacksmith's apprentice. "Where's Eragon?"

"I… don't know."

"Mark?"

"Hopefully with Eragon."

"What are you doing here?" He asked again, squinting at her through the dusk.

She shivered, "I was captured by the Empire. I was sent here by Galbatorix to bring you to him."

Roran stared at her, his voice dropping, "You're serious. Why? What do you have to do with anything?"

"I'm a Dragon Rider." She said, watching his face, "And so is Eragon."

"You can't be…"

"I'm dead serious Roran. And there's another Rider, just up on the hill outside of town. She's two minutes away from flying in here and torching everything. She sent me to get you. If you come with me, nothing bad will happen."

"How can you be sure?"

"I can't – which is why I want you to run."

"What?"

"You heard me. I need you to take everyone in to the mountains and run, escape as fast as you can. She won't follow. She can't." Mariah insisted, "She's as scared of the Spine as her father. She told me as much while we were flying here."

"Her father?"

"…her father is Galbatorix."

Roran stared at her, leaning against the wall and slipping to the ground. "Mariah… this is all too much to take. You can't be serious."

"I'm dead serious Roran." She said, kneeling next to him and taking his hand, "Look at me." He did so. "You may think I'm crazy. But if you do nothing else in your entire life, believe me right now." Mariah said to him, tearing up slightly, "If you don't take everyone and run, right now, tonight, then everyone you have known since you were born will be dead by morning. Carvahall will be burnt to the ground and everyone will be dead. I can promise you that, on my life."

"Roran-?"

Mariah snapped her head up, looking at a woman standing in the alleyway entrance. Her voice wavered slightly as she spoke, like she was scared.

"Katrina, it's okay." Roran insisted, getting up slowly.

The Rider stood up, "Katrina."

"Mariah? Roran, what's going on?"

"She's here to help," he insisted, walking to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Don't worry."

Mariah watched them, "Roran… you have to believe me. If you don't-"

"I know." He said shortly, kissing Katrina's forehead. "We'll be gone by morning."

"By midnight… she won't wait. Bring only what you can carry while running and go."

Katrina looked between Roran and Mariah, "What's happening?"

She stepped over to them, "Roran will explain everything, don't worry Katrina, everything will be alright." Mariah told her. The older lady just looked at her and Mariah felt her heart tense. Any year prior to this one, she would have been taking advice and reassurance from her, not giving it. "I guess… being a Rider does this to people." She said to herself quietly. Mariah watched the two of them for a moment before realizing how he was holding her. "…you're engaged."

"As of yesterday," Roran confirmed, looking at Mariah again.

Mariah started crying silently. She didn't know why, it just happened. Quickly, she found herself praying that they survived the next few days, months escaping from the Empire. "You're in so much danger Roran… please know that."

He stared at her. "…where's Eragon, Mariah?"

"Safe… he's safe Roran. That much I do know…"

"He should have been with you."

"No. No, he shouldn't have been," she shook her head.

Roran shook his head, letting go of Katrina and walking back to Mariah. "If I know him at all, he would have given anything to protect you."

"He almost died protecting me once, it was my turn to protect him."

"You," he started, pausing. "…what is that other Rider going to do to you when she realizes what you've done?"

"I don't know." Mariah admitted. "She will burn down Carvahall though…" Her tears had dried on her cheeks. "And I'll have to help her. I'll lie to her and pray she doesn't discover the truth. I have to go." She started out of the alley and paused by Katrina, turning to look at her. "It is… an awful time, but I wish for you to be happy and for you to smile on your wedding day, hoping the day isn't too far away. Waíse ilia, Katrina." She touched her cheek with her silver palm and smiled a little. Dropping her hand, she turned and ran as fast as she could out of the village into the darkness.

* * *

Satisfied, Gannel led him away from the statues and up a winding staircase. As they climbed, the clan chief dipped a hand into his robe and withdrew a simple necklace, a chain threaded through the pommel of a miniature silver hammer. He gave it to Eragon.

"This is another favor Hrothgar asked of me," Gannel explained. "He worries that Galbatorix may have gleaned an image of you from the minds of Durza, the Ra'zac, or any number of soldiers who saw you throughout the Empire."

"Why should I fear that?"

"Because then Galbatorix could scry you. Perhaps he already has."

A shiver of apprehension wormed down Eragon's side, like an icy snake. _I should have thought of that, _he berated himself.

"The necklace will prevent anyone from scrying you or your dragon, as long as you wear it. I placed the spell myself, so it should hold before even the strongest mind. But be forewarned, when activated, the necklace will draw upon your strength until you either take it off or the danger has passed."

"What if I'm asleep? Could the necklace consume all my energy before I was aware of it?"

"Nay. It will wake you."

Eragon rolled the hammer between his fingers. It was difficult to avert another's spells, least of all Galbatorix's. _If Gannel is so accomplished, what other enchantments might be hidden in his gift?_ He noticed a line of runes cut along the hammer's haft. They spelled _Astim Hefthyn_. The stairs ended as he asked, "Why do dwarves write with the same runes as humans?"

For the first time since they met, Gannel laughed, his voice booming through the temple as his large shoulders shook. "It is the other way around; humans write with _our_ runes. When your ancestors landed in Alagaësia, they were as illiterate as rabbits. However, they soon adopted our alphabet and matched it to _this_ language. Some of your words even come from us, like _father_, which was originally _farthen_."

"So then Farthen Dûr means…?" Eragon slipped the necklace over his head and tucked it under his tunic.

"Our Father."

Stopping at a door, Gannel ushered Eragon through to a curved gallery located directly below the cupola. The passageway banded Celbedeil, providing a view through the open archways of the mountains behind Tarnag, as well as the terraced city far below.

Eragon barely glanced at the landscape, for the gallery's inner wall was covered with a single continuous painting, a gigantic narrative band that began with a depiction of the dwarves' creation under Helzvog's hand. The figures and objects stood in relief from the surface, giving the panorama a feeling of hyperrealism with its saturated, glowing colors and minute detail.

Captivated, Eragon asked, "How was this made?"

"Each scene is carved out of small places of marble, which are fired with enamel, then fitted into a single piece.

"Wouldn't it be easier to use regular paint?"

"It would," said Gannel, "but not if we wanted it to endure centuries – millennia – without change. Enamel never fades or loses its brilliancy, unlike oil paint. This first section was carved only a decade after the discovery of Farthen Dûr, well before elves set foot on Alagaësia."

The priest took Eragon by the arm and guided him along the tableau. Each step carried them through uncounted years of history.

Eragon saw how the dwarves were once nomads on a seemingly endless plain, until the land grew so hot and desolate they were forced to migrate south to the Beor Mountains. _That was how the Hadarac Desert was formed,_ he realized, amazed.

As they proceeded down the mural, heading toward the back of Celbedeil, Eragon witnessed everything from the domestication of Feldûnost to the carving of Isidar Mithrim, the first meeting between dwarves and elves, and the coronation of each new dwarf king. Dragons frequently appeared, burning and slaughtering. Eragon had difficult restraining comment during those sections.

His steps slowed as the painting shifted to the event he had hoped to find: the war between elves and dragons. Here the dwarves had devoted a vast amount of space to the destruction wreaked upon Alagaësia by the two races. Eragon shuddered with horror at the sight of elves and dragons killing each other. The battles continued for yards, each image more bloody than the last, until the darkness lifted and a young elf was shown kneeling on the edge of a cliff, holding a white dragon egg.

"Is that…?" whispered Eragon.

"Aye, it's Eragon, the First Rider. It's a good likeness too, as he agreed to sit for our artisans.

Drawn forward by his fascination, Eragon studied the face of his namesake. _I always imagined him older_. The elf had angled eyes that peered down a hooked nose and narrow chin, giving him a fierce appearance. It was an alien face, completely different from his own… and yet the set of his shoulders, high and tense, reminded Eragon of how he had felt upon finding Saphira's egg. _We're not so different, you and I,_ he thought, touching the cool enamel. _And once my ears match yours, we shall truly be brothers through time… I wonder, would you approve of my actions? _He knew they had made at least one identical choice; they had both kept the egg.

He heard a door open and close and turned to see Arya approaching from the far end of the gallery. She scanned the wall with the same blank expression Eragon had seen her use when confronting the Council of Elders. Whatever her specific emotions, he sensed that she found the situation distasteful.

Arya inclined her head, "Grimstborith."

"Arya."

"You have been educating Eragon in your mythology?"

Gannel smiled flatly. "One should always understand the faith of the society that one belongs to."

"Yet comprehension does not imply belief." She fingered the pillar of an archway. "Nor does it mean that those who purvey such beliefs do so for more than… material gain."

"You would deny the sacrifices my clan makes to bring comfort to our brethren?"

"I deny nothing, only ask what good might be accomplished if your wealth were spread among the needy, the starving, the homeless, or even to buy supplies for the Varden. Instead, you've piled it into a monument to your own wishful thinking."

"Enough!" The dwarf clenched his fists, his face mottled. "Without us, the crops would wither in drought. Rivers and lakes would flood. Our flocks would give birth to one-eyed beasts. The very heavens would shatter under the gods' rage!" Arya smiled. "Only _our_ prayers and service prevent that from happening. If not for Helzvog, where-"

Eragon soon lost track of the argument. He did not understand Arya's vague criticisms of Dûrgrimst Quan, but he gathered from Gannel's responses that, in some indirect way, she had implied that the dwarf gods did not exist, questioned the mental capacity of every dwarf who entered a temple, and pointed out what she took to be flaws in their reasoning – all in a pleasant and polite voice.

After a few minutes, Arya raised her hand, stopping Gannel, and said, "That is the difference between us, Grimstborith. You devote yourself to that which you believe to be true but cannot prove. There, we must agree to disagree." She turned to Eragon then, "Az Sweldn rak Anhûin has inflamed Tarnag's citizens against you. Ûndin believes, as do I, that it would be best for you to remain behind his walls until we leave."

Eragon hesitated. He wanted to see more of Celbedeil, but if there was to be trouble, then his place was by Saphira's side. He bowed to Gannel and begged to be excused. "You need not apologize, Shadeslayer," said the clan chief. He glared at Arya. "Do what you must, and may the blessings of Gûntera be upon you."

* * *

"I've said it before Nasuada, I am not taking command of Du Vrangr Gata. Trianna will be fine leading them. They are under your orders, not their own."

"They have a tendency to dismiss my orders though."

"I don't believe that will be a problem any longer," Mark insisted, stopping at the foot of the stairs a moment. "Trianna asked me to take command and I told her I simply couldn't, considering how busy I am. She seemed very eager to listen to what I had to say however, I believe she'll do what you say now. With the Twins in charge before, I think they were more inclined to dismiss your orders."

Nasuada sighed a little, "Very well. If you feel confident with how they've set up their new leadership, I will allow it and leave them be. We're done for the day, you may go. Everyone has been alerted to the move, so the city will probably be very busy."

Mark smiled at her, "I'm not worried about getting lost, if that's what you're thinking."

"Well, no." She said, "It's not that."

"You should rest Nasuada, running yourself into the ground won't do anyone any good."

She nodded, "You're right. Thank you."

"I think you forget sometimes you are only human."

"Perhaps," she admitted, "Good night, Marcus."

"Good night, Lady Nasauda."

He watched her leave to go to her quarters before continuing down the steps to the city. As he wandered about, avoiding people best he could his mind fell back onto the subject of his sister. The eyes he had seen in his scrying orb had been Mariah's – he was sure of it. Not knowing what the damn thing was used for however, he had no way of knowing if that had simply been a reflection of his own thoughts or something more real. More alive. Fiddling with her headband in his pocket, he sighed and tried to get his mind off the topic.

Dwarvish – he had to become more fluent. It was difficult to keep up with them when they spoke so fluidly in their own language. There had to be at least one dwarf in Farthen Dûr willing to teach him how to speak better. The ones he had spoken to all had seemed eager to correct him, finding his failures amusing.

If Mariah was alive somewhere, it must mean she was captured, probably by the Empire – by Galbatorix himself. If that was indeed what had happened to her, what could he do? He wasn't even a Rider; despite everything he couldn't help his little sister.

"Damnit," he stopped and rubbed his face, "I have to stop worrying like this. It's not doing any good you know."

"Worrying always does some good, whether you do something about it or not is usually what matters."

Mark looked over and let out a slight moan. How was it every time he stopped paying attention to where his feet were going, they led him to Angela?

"Did you find my gift useful?"

He blinked, "Yes, but it seems to be causing more of a problem for me than not."

"How do you mean?" She asked, examining a blue feather.

"I mean, I believe I was able to scry my sister with it." Mark told her, leaning on her counter. "But I can't say for certain."

"What good does knowing do you anyhow? Nothing you can do about it now."

"Well… no-"

"So what use is it?"

"I'd like to know if she's alright or not."

"Why? You can't do anything either way."

He huffed, "I could if I wanted to."

"Then why don't you?" She asked, looking over at him.

"Because… I-"

"You can't, that's why." Angela told him, "You're weak and pathetic and there's nothing you can do about it." Mark blinked at her, startled. "I mean you have no dragon. Even on your horse, it would take you weeks to reach Urû'baen. And even if you managed somehow to reach the capital – through the countless hordes of enemies - what's to say she's actually there? You might be wrong."

"I might be right."

"That's a change you aren't willing to take, now isn't it?"

He looked down at the wooden countertop and dragged a finger along the grain line. "No… it's not."

"Not even for your sister?"

"I know she would not want me to risk my own life just to try and save hers."

"And what if she is content with Galbatorix? What if she likes being there? She might not even come back with you, if you were somehow able to find a way."

He hadn't thought of that. "No, she would never. I know my sister, she would do anything to destroy the Empire."

"That was before, can you be sure now? It has been nearly a fortnight since her departure. People can change."

"Not so quickly."

"I think you may be surprised, Marcus." Angela told him. "Have I helped you calm your mind?"

"Not at all," he said, letting out a quiet chortle. "On the contrary – my mind seems to be spinning more. You're coming with us to Surda then?"

"I am. We've already started packing." She said.

He smiled a bit, "I'm glad you're coming along. I enjoy your company and, though very confusing, entertaining conversation."

"As do I," Angela told him, "Now. I believe it was late when you arrived and you have overstayed your welcome. Go now and rest."

Mark pushed off the counter, shaking his head at the woman and started out of her shop, finding the streets nearly empty as everyone turned in for the night.

* * *

He glanced back and forth down the hall to make sure no one was coming before crouching on one knee and picking the lock carefully. The man swore a couple times as he nearly had it, then it re-locked. After a few tries Murtagh blinked, realizing it was magically re-locking itself every time he picked it.

"Ma'mor," he said. Nothing happened. Growling a bit to himself he narrowed his eyes at the door. "…Mariah said it helps to calm down first. Easy for her to say." He tapped his fingers against the wood and let out a breath, trying to pull on some sort of magic from inside himself. After a few seconds he rolled his eyes, "This is stupid. I can't use magic."

Turning around, he walked to the next room over and picked the lock. This one wasn't magically shut. Opening it quietly, he stepped inside, closing the door and looking around. Murtagh walked along the wall and ran his fingers over the fine decorated walls, tapping every now and then until he heard a hollow sound. Smirking, he started searching for the hidden panel and soon found a notch in the wall. He pressed it and the concealed door sank back into the wall, spinning out to the magically locked room. Murtagh stepped through and looked around.

The room was exactly how he remembered it, filled with books and pictures of the sea. Kendra had only gotten to see the ocean once and had collected pictures of it ever since. She usually spent as much time as she could at the lake outside of the city, but it was nothing compared to the vast salt-filled waters of the sea. He strode over to her bookshelf, looking over the titles on the spines and observing the amount of dust collected on them. Murtagh paused when he saw one had a lighter coating than the rest, pulling it out and moving to sit down with it. He blinked as a piece of paper fell from it, landing on the floor. Kneeling down to pick it up, he hesitated when he saw his name scrolled at the top in large, elegant, looping letters.

Setting the book down on the nearby table he looked at the paper and unfolded it carefully, biting his lip as he read.

_Murtagh,_

_These words are meant for your eyes only, please keep them safe. If you're reading this, by now you must have realized I've gone – escaped, or hoped to, shortly after you. It also means you're back in Urû'baen – most likely captured by the king's men, despite your best efforts to escape. I'm sorry that it happened, but I am glad you are still alive. _

_Anything Galbatorix has made you do up until now will be nothing compared to what he has planned for you. I never wanted to see you turn into one of his pawns, but with what he has told me and Kieran, that is what you will become. Don't fight him. Despite every part of your existence that will scream not to let him win, allow it. If you try to fight him, you will lose. Every single time. You have seen what he does to me and my sister. Remember all those times I lay broken and bleeding after he made me train over and over – don't let that happen to you. My hatred toward him for that will never weaken. I am his disappointment, but he still has you and Kieran. If I only knew of a way to tell you how much that frightens me._

_I left because I could not stay here and watch as innocent people are slain with no mercy while the country falls to ruin. Your escape gave me the courage to leave. I realize now that I cannot stay here, whether I die running or get killed before I even make it off the grounds, I don't know. Maybe I'll be caught and beaten to death by the king. I can only pray he would not leave me alive, be that the case. I may die, I don't know and it does scare me. Wouldn't it you – to die alone? _

_I hope to never return here unless it is to not only kill Galbatorix, but to set you and my dear sister free. Until then, I probably won't see you again. I don't know if you'll remember me if we ever do meet again, but I can only hope you will think of me every once in a great while and that they will be happier thoughts._

_With Love, Your Sister,_

_Kendra_

"Of course she left a letter," he sighed. "Just like her to do that. Well Kendra, I'm sorry too… because I'm stuck here without you, at least if you were still here it'd make life a little more bearable. Kieran always was the crazy one."

Murtagh quickly folded up the paper and stuffed it into his belt under his shirt, hearing footsteps just outside the door. He ran to the hidden doorway and closed it, stepping out into the hall just as soldiers rounded the corner. The messenger slipped between them all as they stopped a few feet from him. "Galbatorix wishes to see you. Follow me."

He sighed and nodded, trying to ignore the guards as they walked him to one of the lower rooms of the castle. A chill ran up his spine as he recalled walking down this way before, it had not been pleasant the last time when the Twins tortured him and he prayed it wasn't about to turn into something similar today. The guards stopped at the door, the messenger waving him in. Murtagh stepped through as the door closed at his back.

"Ah, there you are," Galbatorix said, motioning for him to step closer.

Hesitating a moment, Murtagh looked around the room. It was damp, cold and dark. The torch light flickered, allowing only the smallest bit of light and heat into the stone walls and floor. He caught something sparkle out of the corner of his eye and flicked his gaze to it fully. Large smooth gemstones say atop pedestals in the center of the room.

"Come here boy." His voice came out in an impatient drawl.

Stepping closer, he saw exactly what he expected – dragon eggs. There were eight in all; closest to him was a glittering green one the same color as an emerald. "I'm afraid I don't understand what you want me here for."

Galbatorix walked around the eggs circular path, eyeing them with pleasure. "It's simple Murtagh. You did not believe I trained you and treated you as a son out of the kindness of my heart, did you?"

He stayed silent, watching the king carefully.

"You must realize I need Riders… no I want them. I want to restore the world to its proper state, recreate the Riders and bring them back to their full glory. You have heard the stories about ancient times – they are no myth. The Riders were every bit as glorious as stories tell, and then some. Imagine it – dragons in the sky all the time, dozens of them – hundreds even. Alagaësia has been out of balance since the fall and needs to be resurrected. I wish to restore what is right – Alagaësia is supposed to have Dragon Riders, it has been that way for much of history. These most recent decades have been barren and dire, but by returning the Riders to their proper station everything will become as it once was. I need my Forsworn back in order to start the Rise of the Riders and I wish for you to take your father's place at my side."

With every word his heart had started beating faster, he knew it had been coming. Kendra had known for a long time – Kieran too. "I am not my father."

"No, you are not Morzan. You far outreach him. Your skills are beyond anything he could have dreamed of. At your age, he was not nearly as accomplished as you are. You have a gift, Murtagh, a natural fighting spirit. Use it. Become one of my new Forsworn." Galbatorix said, "You know you cannot refuse."

He was right about that. The oaths he had forced him to pledge when he'd first arrived stated he must do everything Galbatorix commanded him to. He never imagined this would be one of them. "What if none of them hatch for me?"

"I have been practicing, just for that very reason. If none of them want to hatch for you – I shall simply have to force one to."

"What if you kill it?"

"Nasreen is nearly old enough to breed, she will lay another clutch of eggs soon enough."

"You'll destroy them all then?"

Galabtorix looked at him, "If that is what must be done, yes. Now, find a dragon willing to hatch for you or I shall force one out."

He shivered slightly, the hair on the back of his neck sticking up as he stepped forward, keeping the king in his sights. Murtagh brushed his fingers over the smooth surface of the emerald dragon egg and sighed lightly. How was he supposed to know which one would hatch for him – if any? Moving on, he touched a pale egg, in the lighting he couldn't tell what color it was – it simply looked white any tint was soaked up by the flickering firelight. Slowly he wound his way across the circle. "I don't think any of them want to hatch for me."

"Keep going," Galbatorix commanded.

He winced a bit and looked back down, placing his hand on a burnished ruby red dragon egg. _Please, hatch. He's going to force you to and I would rather you hatched now by your own will than dying at his hand. _Murtagh went rigid as he felt a tap against his hand. The sound echoed around the room and he felt the king smirk.

"Red. Just like your father..."

Murtagh watched the egg spider web with white cracks. He stepped back and stared as a snake-like head popped through the hole. The egg shattered, leaving a tiny red dragon sitting on the pedestal in front of him. His heart sank as it turned its head toward him, realizing what had just happened. "_Anything Galbatorix has made you do up until now will be nothing compared to what he has planned for you." _ Kendra hadn't been joking.

* * *

Well wasn't that just peachy?

Mariah's just having oodles of fun, now isn't she? I've never mentioned it before, but considering their ages, I've always thought Mariah and Katrina would have been friends in Carvahall. And no, her Elvish was not a full blessing, before you ask – she put no magic behind her words.

More with Eragon and Co. – their traveling is keeping my timeline a little more consistent. When it gets a little less lecture-driven, I'm planning on changing some things up.

Bits with Mark and Nasuada – nothing much to do with them right now. I have to try and figure something out though… it'll pick up once I can place them in Surda though. Angela's always fun to write with, she can say whatever she wants and get away with it.

Yes. Thorn did hatch for Murtagh. I'm so glad I can officially say that. Murtagh still gets Thorn. Galbatorix now has three Riders. Everyone can stop worrying about it now, even me. I did for a while consider not having this happen, but there's my final decision.

Thank you for reviewing as per usual – I truly wouldn't be doing this without you.

Every chapter has a title and I choose them all with great care. Somehow they are reflective as to what the chapter is about, and I try to make them catchy or familiar in some way. I don't really know why I'm telling you this, but I think it's because I just wrote the title in last for this chapter and it was on my mind.

Sorry I'm so chatty today. I hope everyone has a fun and safe Forth of July tomorrow! Enjoy the fireworks. If you live outside the USA, then just have a great day.

With Love, As Always,

Mariah


	9. Ch 49: Misery

Chapter Forty-Nine: Misery

Mariah stood in front of the wooden door, staring without seeing at the tiny grains forming it. Slowly she reached out and grabbed the handle, pressing against it slightly and moving the door open. Once inside, she leaned against the heavy door to close it, breathing deeply. Brom's home smelled the same it had the day she left, only dustier. She stepped forward, dragging her fingers along the walls as she went. A moment later Mariah stood at the entrance to the library, "Brisingr, iet tauthr." A small ball of fire sparked up in mid air beside her, lighting the room. Walking in, the Rider looked around, skimming familiar titles and maps littered about the room. She sighed at the rocking chair and turned, striding to her room. It seemed smaller than she remembered, even after only a few short months. Standing in front of her dresser, she stared in the mirror.

Her face appeared hollower than before, cheekbones jetting out farther, her features more defined. Blinking, she realized her eyes seemed older, more feminine than they had looked when she left Carvahall last year. She placed her hands on the dresser and realized she was taller as well, by a few inches. It was quite a growth spurt considering how many months she'd been away. Turning, Mariah walked from the room and back outside.

She took a deep breath, calming herself down before trying to find the right words. "Skölir thornessa breoal frá brisinger." Mariah placed her hand on the door and fell to her knees as she expelled the magic, coughing and clutching her chest. She panted; sweat dripping from her forehead as she pressed against the wood. As soon as she could stand again, she did so, striding back to Kieran as fast as she could.

"Where have you been!"

She blinked at the woman, re-dressing her armor carefully. "Trying to convince Roran that it would be in his best interests to submit now, before the village burns."

"And?" Kieran snapped.

"He agreed. He will come with us at daybreak."

She nodded curtly, "Very well. Now, get some sleep, we are flying come morning."

Mariah walked over to her dragon, now fully dressed in her armor, and curled against his belly. Andrar flicked out his wing and twisted his tail about her, shielding her from Kieran's view. She huddled against him and rubbed her eyes, sore from crying. Convincing Kieran to leave it alone had been easier than she'd predicted, but Mariah expected the princess' reaction tomorrow to be horrific.

Clamping her eyes shut tightly, she tried imagining something more pleasant. It was mid-summer now and every day was warm and pleasant – and even if the sky was filled with thunderstorms, she enjoyed watching the lightning and listening to the rain. Her cheek pressed against the grass and she breathed in deeply, finding that it smelled like home – even amidst the burnt scent that lingered on the wind from the village.

Any other year she would be laying on her back, watching the stars, connecting them and keeping track with one of Brom's many charts. Mark would help her point out any of them that she missed. They would lie under the sky for hours until she fell asleep, clutching the star map. When she woke, Mariah would always be laying in bed. On more than one occasion she had feigned sleep in order to get him to carry her home. It had been out of sheer laziness, thinking it was funny. But now, realizing he never once had so much as tried to wake her up, made her realize just how special it had been. He'd probably realized she was trying to trick him; he was smart enough to realize that. But still. Mark always carried her back.

Now, she was stuck cowering under her dragon's wing, trying not to get attacked by the daughter of Galabtorix. Upon this realization, Mariah blinked and lifted Andrar's wing, looking over at Kieran. She was sitting up, leaning against Nasreen's side, nodding off. _It doesn't matter what she does to me. This is my home and I'm going to enjoy being here while I have the chance. _Mariah slipped away from Andrar and stretched out on her back, sinking into the grass and staring up at the stars.

* * *

After leaving Tarnag and the wonderful temple at its top, Eragon, Arya and Orik boarded a large raft to traverse the river while Saphira swam along beside them. The dwarvish guards that accompanied them were led by a bearded dwarf named Thorv - from Tarnag. They spent long days shrouded by the mountains' shadows, though it was faster and easier than traveling on land.

"Then tell me this at least," Eragon said, several days into their journey, scratching his chin and cheeks, feeling the patches of stubble that had begun to appear. "If you won't teach me any magic, what does the name of my sword mean?"

Arya's voice was very soft. "_Misery_ is your sword. And so it was until you wielded it."

Eragon stared with aversion at Zar'roc. The more he learned about his weapon, the more malevolent it seemed, as if the blade could cause misfortune of its own free will. _Not only did Morzan kill Riders with it, but Zar'roc's very name is evil._ If Brom had not given it to him, and if not for the fact that Zar'roc never dulled and could not be broken, Eragon would have thrown it into the river at that very moment.

As the day grew darker, he decided to fly a while with Saphira before the sun set. They swirled around in the mountain air, chasing after birds and Fanghur creatures native to the Dwarvish mountain ranges. Before they could get into trouble with the dragon-like creatures, Saphira dove back down, splashing into the water.

After eating, Eragon retired to his tent. The fire provided enough light that he could see the silhouette of Saphira nestled alongside the tent, like a figure cut from black paper and pasted against the canvas wall.

Eragon sat with the blankets pulled over his legs and stared at his lap, drowsy but unwilling to sleep quite yet. Unbidden, his mind turned to thoughts of home. He wondered how Roran, Horst and everyone else from Carvahall was doing, and if the weather in Palancar Valley was warm enough for the farmers to start planting their crops. Longing and sadness suddenly gripped Eragon.

He removed a wood bowl from his pack and, taking his water-skin, filled it to the brim with liquid. Then he focused on an image of Roran and whispered, "Draumr kópa."

As always, the water went black before brightening to reveal the object being scryed. Eragon saw Roran sitting along in a candlelit bedroom he recognized from Horst's house. _Roran must have given up his job in Therinsford,_ realized Eragon. His cousin leaned on his knees and clasped his hands, staring at the far wall with an expression that Eragon knew meant Roran was grappling with some difficult problem. Still, Roran seemed well enough, if a bit drawn, which comforted Eragon. After a minute, he released the magic, ending the spell and clearing the surface of the water.

Reassured, Eragon emptied the bowl, then lay down, pulling the blankets up to his chin. He closed his eyes and sank into the warm dusk that separates consciousness and sleep, where reality bends and sways to the wind of thought, and where creativity blossoms in its freedom from boundaries and all things are possible.

The first time he woke, Eragon touched his face, catching a teardrop and rubbing it away. He'd been trying not to think about it, focusing his mind on traveling with Arya and Orik, but the concern about Carvahall and his cousin had led his subconscious to what was really troubling him. _It's… it's just not fair she had to die.__ She should be right here, next to me, traveling at my side to Ellesméra._ He bit his lip, shivering a bit and curled back up, dragging his blanket over his head to try and get her face out of his mind. All the while she was screaming his name to help her while he stood there frozen, completely useless.

Then, in the morning, right before he woke, he had a vision as clear as if he would have been awake.

_He saw a tortured sky, black and crimson with smoke. Crows and eagles swirled high above flights of arrows that arched from one side to another of a great battle. A man sprawled in the clotted mud with a dented helm and bloody mail – his face concealed behind and up thrown arm. _

_An armored hand entered Eragon's view. The gauntlet was so near it blotted out half the world with polished steel. Like an inexorable machine, the thumb and last three fingers curled into a fist, leaving the trunk of the index finger to point at the downed man with all the authority of fate itself._

* * *

Mariah was startled out of her sleep when Kieran gripped her by the collar, screaming, "They're gone! What the hell did you do, you stupid little brat? You let them get away – you warned them!" Her lips were curled up into a snarl, "I should never have let you go alone." Kieran threw her back on the ground, "Get up, now."

She scrambled to her feet, wiping the spit off her face with the back of her hand, biting her tongue to stop herself from saying anything to further upset the older girl.

"On your damn dragon," the princess insisted, climbing up on her steed. Nasreen let out a low grown, razor teeth flashing in her giant maw. When Mariah didn't move fast enough for Kieran's liking, the dragoness lurched forward and bit towards her. Andrar twisted around her quickly, Nasreen's teeth clamping around his tail. She let go and pulled back, turning toward Carvahall.

_Get on my back my darling,_ he said, lowering his head, _Before they decide to harm you further. _Mariah did as he said, climbing up into her saddle. Turning around a bit, she stared at Andrar's tail, gushing blood from fist-sized wounds.

Kieran twisted around, glaring at her, "You are going to fly down and torch the entire village, understood? I'll be right behind you, watching. If you don't do it, I'm going to kill you – I don't even care what father has to say about it either. You will not make a fool out of me girl. Now do it!"

Andrar lurched into the air before she had a say in what he was going to do. It was his job to keep her out of trouble now that she'd reached Kieran's limit. His tail was dripping with blood and it was painful to fly, however this was what needed to be done.

He flapped his wings heavily in the air, hovering a hundred feet above the village. Mariah stared at his red-orange scales as Andrar inhaled. A bursting jet stream of flames erupted from his jaws. When his breath died back out he flew around and started breathing fire up and down the thatched-roof houses until everything was aflame. When he'd finished, he returned to Kieran and Nasreen.

The princess stared at Mariah, "Good. We're going back to Urû'baen now, I suggest you stay close by." Nasreen turned to fly south, leaving Andrar to follow.

_Don't look now Mariah, but I fear we won't be alone in our journey back._ Andrar told her, staying behind Nasreen's tail. His Rider glanced downward, not seeing anything.

_What do you mean?_

_Behind you._

She twisted in her saddled, a chill running down her skin as she saw two dragon-like figures flapping behind them like over-sized bats. The Ra'zac.

* * *

The valley widened throughout the morning as the rafts swept toward a bright gap between two mountains. They reached the opening at midday and found themselves looking out of shadow upon n a sunny prairie that faded into the north.

Then the current pushed hem beyond the frosted crags and the walls of the world dropped away to reveal a gigantic sky and flat horizon. Almost immediately, the air grew warmer. The Az Ragni curved to the east, edging the foothills of the mountain range on one side and the plains on the other.

The amount of open space seemed o unsettle the dwarves. They muttered among themselves and glanced longingly at the cavernous rift behind them.

Eragon found the sunlight invigorating. It was hard to ever really feel awake when three-quarters of the day was spent in twilight. Behind his raft, Saphira launched herself out of the water and flew up over the prairie until she dwindled to a winking speck in the azure dome above.

That evening, Thorv chose a small cove for their camp. While one of the dwarves fixed dinner, Eragon cleared a space beside his tent, then drew Zar'roc and settled into the ready stance Brom had taught him when they first sparred. Eragon knew he was at a disadvantage compared to the elves, and he had no intention of arriving in Ellesméra out of practice.

With excruciating slowness, he looped Zar'roc over his head and brought it back down with both hands, as if to cleave an enemy's helm. He held the pose for a second. Keeping his motion under complete control, he pivoted to the right – twisting Zar'roc's point to parry an imaginary blow – then stopped with rigid arms.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eragon noticed Orik, Arya and Thorv watching. He ignored them and focused only on the ruby blade in his hands; he held it as if it were a snake that could writhe out of this grip and bite his arm.

Turning again, he commenced a series of forms, flowing from one to another with disciplined ease as he gradually increased his speed. In his mind, he was no longer in the shadowy cove, but surrounded by a knot of ferocious Urgals and Kull. He ducked and slashed, parried, riposed, jumped to the side, and stabbed in a whirl of activity. He fought with mindless energy, as he had in Farthen Dur, with no thought for the safety of his own flesh, dashing and tearing aside his imagined enemies.

He spun Zar'roc around – in an attempt to flip the hilt from one palm to another – then dropped the sword as a jagged line of pain bisected his back. He staggered and fell. Above him, he could hear Arya and the dwarves babbling, but all he saw was a constellation of sparkling red haze, like a bloody veil dropped over the world. No sensation existed other than pain. It blotted out thought and reason, leaving only a feral animal that screamed for release.

* * *

As soon as Mariah's feet touched the ground, there was a blade to her throat. Kieran gripped a fistful of her shirt and snarled in her face, "No one makes a mockery out of me, Mariah, no one. Especially not you. I don't give a damn if you're some stupid peasant girl or a goddess, you do not disobey my direct orders. You let them all escape and I will not soon forget it." The knife pressed deeper into her throat, cutting through her skin, drawing blood to the surface. "Every single one of those people were supposed to die – Roran was supposed to come with us or die on my blade. Now I wish I would have just killed them all myself." Kieran spat.

She took a step back and turned to walk away when Mariah lurched toward her, slamming her fist into the woman's face. "Nnngah!" The cut on her throat sizzled with pain as she spoke, "You do not get to decide who lives and dies – you aren't in charge of peoples' lives!"

"Though as a Rider I am the law." Kieran said, standing back up and rubbing her face, pushing blood away from her nose.

"You don't get to make the rules!" Mariah shouted at her, shaking with rage.

She smirked and flicked a knife into her hand, "Yes. I do – I can do whatever I want. If I say they die, they die. And I get to do it all myself. If Galbatorix ever perishes, I get to claim the throne. When I'm queen I'll have unlimited, complete control over the entire continent. Don't you understand? I own you and everyone else. No one tells me what to do." Kieran's eyes flashed, "And if they try – I kill them. Do you want to die?"

"I want you to die. And I'm going to do it myself, right now." Mariah said, drawing her sword.

_Mariah – you're going to get hurt! _Andrar insisted, roaring at her. _She'll kill you!_ He started towards her, intending to break her away from Kieran, but Nasreen leaped atop him, pinning him down with her body and clamping her jaws around his throat, keeping enough pressure on it to make sure he knew she would snap it without hesitation.

She lunged toward the princess, slashing at her wildly, trying to hit her anywhere she could. Kieran's reflexes were better, through training and her longer period as a Rider, effectively dodging all her attacks.

"My turn," she snarled, ducking in and stabbing her in the hip. Her knife dragged downward, tearing a gash in Mariah's left hip from her waist down nearly ten inches. When she pulled back, the knife stuck in her flesh. Kieran immediately drew her Rider's blade.

Mariah gasped a bit, falling onto her knee and staring at the dagger. This fight would have happened whether she initiated it or not, it had been coming – building since they first met. Her eyes flicked back up to Kieran. _Whoever wins this… it's going to change everything._ She took hold of the knife and pulled it out, tossing it aside before lunging toward the princess, ignoring the gushing blood.

Kieran lifted Eirian to block the sword and dug her heels into the ground. When Mariah's blade struck it, she tumbled forward, listening to an awful shattering noise – something she'd never heard before. She hit the ground and coughed, staring at the shards of her former sword. Before she could process how Kieran had managed to break it, the woman had a boot on her throat, stepping down harshly.

"You know," she said. "You really are stupid…" Kieran dragged her sword along Mariah's arm, drawing a gash into it, then another beside it, and another. She bit her tongue, trying to block the pain, but it felt like hot fire burning her veins.

Once she'd repeated the process with her other arm and both her legs, all the while keeping just enough pressure on her throat to keep her down, but let her breathe, Kieran stabbed the blade downward through her right thigh, effectively pinning her to the ground. The princess knelt next to her, raising an eyebrow. Mariah stared back through hazy vision. There wasn't a scratch on her. How had she managed to evade all her attacks?

"You're stupid, but not worthless," Kieran observed. "Much like my sister was. You don't give up easily and you are stubborn. You are blinded by your rage and let your feelings get in the way of your head – which is the worst thing anyone can do. Emotions are what kill people." She placed a hand on Mariah's cheek, pushing her hair back gently. "Since I have realized you are not so worthless, as I initially thought, I think I'm going to keep you around some." Kieran dragged her fingers down Mairah's torso, to her leg. "But know this girl," she leaned in closer to her face so she could hear her, "If you start disobeying me, I won't be so lenient again. Know that I can and will kill you." She jammed her thumb into the ten inch dagger wound, causing Mariah to seize slightly. "You promise me that you'll behave and I'll let you live. Deal?"

Before she could respond, Mariah's vision flickered and faded. Her face was pale with blood loss and her clothes, drenched. They were still a few hours from the capital, but her wounds weren't fatal, if bandaged properly. Kieran sighed a little, annoyed.

"Fine then," she stood and looked at Nasreen. "Release him." She did so, slipping around behind Kieran fluidly. "Stay away from her, dragon, while I bandage her wounds." Andrar growled at her, receiving a snarl from Nasreen in turn, but stayed away.

Kieran retrieved some wrappings from Nasreen's saddlebags and started twisting them around Mariah's wounds, pulling Eirian back out of her thigh, wiping it clean of blood. She stood and stretched, climbing onto her dragoness' back. "We're flying the rest of the way to the castle; you can carry her now but be careful not to rip open any of her wounds." Andrar growled slightly, picking his Rider up in his talons and soaring after them.

* * *

When Eragon recovered enough to notice his whereabouts, he found that he had been placed inside his tent and wrapped tightly with blankets. Arya sat beside him, while Saphira's head stuck through the entrance flaps.

_Was I out long?_ asked Eragon.

_A while. You slept a little at the end. I tried to drew you from your body into mind and shield you from the pain, but I could do little with you unconscious._

Eragon nodded and closed his eyes. His entire body throbbed. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at Arya and quietly asked, "How can I train?... How can I fight, or use magic?... I am a broken vessel." His face felt heavy with age as he spoke.

She answered just as softly: "You can sit and watch. You can listen. You can read. And you can learn."

Despite her words, he heard a hitch of uncertainty, even fear, in her voice. He rolled onto his side to avoid meeting her eyes. It shamed him to appear so helpless before her. "How did the Shade do this to me?"

"I have no answers, Eragon. I am neither the wisest nor the strongest elf. We all do our best, and you cannot be blamed for it. Perhaps time will heal your wound." Arya pressed her fingers to his brow and murmured, "Sé mor'ranr ono finna," then left the tent.

Eragon sat and winced as his cramped back muscles stretched. He stared at his hands without seeing them. _I wonder if Murtagh's scar ever pained him like mine does._

_I don't know,"_ said Saphira.

A dead silence followed. Then: _I'm afraid._

_Why?_

_Because…_ He hesitated. _Because nothing I do will prevent another attack. I don't know when or where it will happen, but I do know that it's inevitable. So I wait, and every moment I fear that if I lift something too heavy or stretch in the wrong way, the paint will return. My own body has become the enemy._

Saphira hummed deep in her throat. _I have no answers either. Life is both pain and pleasure. If this is the price you must pay for the hours you enjoy, is it too much?_

_Yes,_ he snapped. He pulled off the blankets and shoved past her, stumbling into the center of the camp, where Arya and the dwarves sat around a fire.

* * *

He panted, looking around at the guards lying on the floor around him as he stood in the middle of the stone courtyard, most of them were moaning, some merely knocked out. Murtagh sheathed his sword and glanced over at Galbatorix.

"You are a match for twelve soldiers at once. That is fair. You should be able to confront more. As a Rider, your power should be unlimited. Your dragon will be large enough to fight with you soon, however and that will greatly increase your power." He watched as the small red dragon fluttered from its perch in a tree and landed precisely on Murtagh's shoulder.

It nuzzled his neck, letting out a purring noise, asking to be petted. Murtagh stroked two fingers along its neck and glanced upward, a flicker of color catching his eye. The small ruby dragon chirruped loudly, looking upward as Nasreen let out a howling roar, jetting to the ground. She flicked out her massive wings and folded them neatly against her body, lowering herself a bit to allow Kieran off her back.

She walked straight to her father, kneeling in front of him, "We have returned."

"…you seem to be missing someone Kieran. Where is he?"

The princess bit her lip before flicking her gaze up to him, "I blame the girl. She warned them and allowed them time to escape before I knew what had happened."

"You allowed this to happen?" He asked, standing up, staring down at her. "How did she manage to do such a thing without your notice?"

"She assured me that-"

He smacked his hand across her face, the sound reverberating against the castle walls, "I do not want excuses."

Kieran flicked her gaze down, "I punished her properly on the way back. And we burned the village to the ground."

"That is better." Galbatorix insisted, looking up as Andrar landed on the stone, gently setting Mariah down.

Murtagh choked, rushing over, seeing all the bandaging. "Kieran! What did you do to her?" He knelt down and turned to look at the princess.

"She started it," she huffed, finally returning to her feet. Her pale face was stained with a red blush, most likely going to proceed into a bruise on her cheek. "I merely stopped the fight before it got out of hand."

"You don't call this out of hand? You didn't even heal her at all, what were you thinking, she could have died!"

"She still might," Kieran pointed out. "So don't get your hopes up." He growled slightly, picking Mariah up and walking toward the door. "Where are you going?" The princess asked, following.

Murtagh glared over at her, "If she doesn't get healed soon, what do you think is gonna happen?"

"Her blood's probably clotted by now, are you kidding?"

"She could still get an infection. Then what?"

"Then she gets an infection," Kieran shrugged.

He shook his head and set Mariah down on her bed. "Do you know how to use healing spells?"

"No." Kieran said, "I'm not good at it at least. You think I would have bothered using bandages if I could heal her up properly? No, too messy. I got blood all over me when I did it."

"Fine," he said, unwrapping the bandages around her left arm. "Kieran… these cuts… they're so deep…" The little red dragon bounced down onto the bed, sniffing at the wound. Murtagh shook his head at her. "You're lucky she didn't die."

"I was careful," she said, observing her nails. "I see father gave you your dragon. Tell me, did he hatch of his own accord or did Galbatorix make him?" Murtagh ignored her, setting to work healing up the gashes in Mariah's arm, muttering healing spells under his breath. "Oh, c'mon tell me. At least tell me how you know those words."

He growled slightly in his throat, "She taught them to me while we were traveling." Murtagh dragged his fingers over another one of the gashes, moving to her other arm and repeating the process. The energy he was using up was excessive but he didn't much care – if the wounds weren't healed up properly and soon, they would likely get infected or keep bleeding. In either case, Mariah's condition would simply deteriorate.

"Oh, well that was nice of her," she said, walking over and looking at a bookshelf before choosing a slim volume and falling gracefully into a chair. "What else did she teach you?"

"Nothing Kieran, now please shut up I'm trying to concentrate."

She huffed and flicked through the book aggressively. "Fine." Kieran sat there, listening to him mutter as she read over the pages.

When he was finished, Murtagh took one more look over her body to make sure he hadn't missed anything. It was then he noticed her throat. "Really, her neck too? How you managed to restrain yourself and not kill her is a wonder. Honestly." He set his jaw and sealed up the cut on her neck as well; brushing her hair back behind her ear. Murtagh blinked and narrowed his eyes a bit before standing straight again. The ruby dragon crawled up his leg, around his waist and perched on his shoulder, blinking at Kieran. "Since you're the one that put her in this mess, you can change her clothes for her, so they're not so bloodied and torn when she wakes up." He walked out of the room, slamming the door.

Kieran huffed and snapped the book shut, pulling some clothes from the wardrobe and tearing the remains of Mariah's shirt from her body. Though not trying to be excessively rough, she hastily changed out her clothing and threw the bloody rags into a bin for the maids to clean up later. Wiping the blood off her hands onto her already blood-spattered pants, she left the room to return to Galbatorix, before he had the change to bid her to do so.

Murtagh waited for her to ascend the stairs before walking back to Mariah's room, the dragon balanced on his shoulder and a tray of food in his hands that he'd just managed to sneak from the kitchens. He shut the door behind him and set the tray on a table nearby, going and looking out the window at Nasreen and Andrar, the latter cowering in front of Shruiken.

He sighed and waited around in the room for a while, letting the dragon do as he liked, which mostly consisted of fluttering around and climbing up the curtains. He played hide-and-seek with him a few times but it only took a matter of minutes before there weren't any more good places to hide.

Finally, Mariah woke.

"Oh, good you're up." He said, walking over to her quickly. "Kieran brought you back in a bloody heap."

She sighed, rubbing her fingers against her face. "It was awful… I didn't realize she was capable of that and still managing to keep the person alive." Mariah jerked slightly, pulling her sleeve back and tracing her right hand fingers along her left arm, staring. There were faint red lines; the only remnants of a scar would be flat lines a shade lighter than her skin tone. "How… she healed me back up afterward?"

"No… she brought you here with bandages. I sealed up your wounds before you could bleed anymore." He admitted, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a crooked smile.

She blinked up at him, "Thank you… but… how did you manage that? It must have taken so much energy, and… no offense… but you don't have that much magic."

Murtagh sighed a little and lifted up his left hand, tipping it slightly so the silvery mark shone in the light cascading from the open windows. Gasping, Mariah sat up abruptly, the movement making her woozy, snatching his hand. She stared at his palm and shook her head. "Galbatorix turned me into a Rider while you were away with Kieran…"

"…how… how did he do it?"

"He didn't, it hatched for me." He told her, pulling his head back and sitting next to her. "I don't know why… but I asked it to, so Galbatorix wouldn't kill it." Murtagh sighed and looked around the room, then up. "Get down here, you."

The hatchling blinked and hissed slightly before leaping from the top of the curtains and gliding downward, collapsing onto the bed with less flair than he would have liked. He straightened himself out and flicked his wings, sitting down and blinking at Mariah.

"Red."

"Yeah, the irony is overwhelming, isn't it?" He asked sarcastically, rubbing his face.

"I think he's adorable." She smiled and coaxed the dragon to her. "What's his name?"

"He won't tell me. You said your dragon picked its name, well… he won't say anything to me. I think he understands me well enough, but I can't invade his mind like you say you can." Murtagh leaned back against his arms, watching her.

"Well, did you suggest anything to it?"

"…no," he blinked at her, "you think that'd work?"

"It's what I did. Dragons can be fickle." She insisted, petting the ruby scales, "So just keep asking until he responds." Mariah looked back up at Murtagh, "Thanks for healing me. You… you did a really good job, considering. I don't think there'll be hardly any scarring."

He smiled crookedly, "I was aiming for that… didn't think you'd appreciate waking up with long scars up and down your arms and legs. Or across your throat."

"No, definitely not, so thanks."

Murtagh nodded, "Are you hungry? I sneaked some food out of the kitchen for you. I figured you'd probably be hungry after all that. And I'm sure Galbatorix is going to punish you… you know, for letting them all escape."

She reached over and took a piece of bread, munching on it, giving the dragon a piece. "Well, I couldn't very well let them all die when I had the option to do something about it, now could I?"

"I suppose not," he admitted, nodding. "Now, let's see about a name for you. Hmm… Jasper means red… and sounds better than Ruby… which really is a girl name, yeah?"

Mariah nodded, chuckling a bit. "Definitely." She looked down at the dragon, "How do you like Jasper, huh?"

The dragon blinked at her, melancholy, and let smoke rise from his nostrils.

"Okay, so that's a no." She snatched a piece of cheese as well from the tray and thought. "Roy means red… how's that?"

He flicked his head back and forth, curling up in her lap, closing his eyes to sleep.

"You see what I mean? Pain in the ass is what he is." Murtagh rolled his eyes, "Thorn in my side. I didn't ask for this you know, you hatched for me, I had nothing to do with it."

The dragon looked up at him and snorted, chirruping at him.

"What? You did. I thought it loud enough I suppose, but you're the one who decided to hatch-" he cut himself off abruptly and stared at the hatchling. "Really? I didn't actually mean it you know." He paused again, listening to the dragon. "Fine. If that's what you want, we'll choose that."

Mariah blinked between them, "What?"

"Thorn. He likes Thorn…" he shook his head, shrugging.

* * *

Brisingr, iet tauthr - Fire, follow me

Skölir thornessa breoal frá brisinger. – Shield this house from fire.

Sé mor'ranr ono finna – May you find peace.

* * *

Alright, yes this DID take way too long, I know… but… I went to Comic-Con, so you can't blame me for not writing anything for the past few weeks.

Alright, there you go, his name is Thorn. Glad you're happy. I am too.

I'm exhausted from writing this now, so happy July everyone.

Please review! It really helps me out when you give me suggestions and ideas!

With Love, As Always,

Mariah


	10. Ch 50: Nyx Nox Night

**Chapter Fifty: Nyx Nox Night**

"Explain yourself."

Mariah stared at Galbatorix, trying her best to ignore the huge black dragon to her left, blocking out most of the sunlight cascading out of the windows. "I told Kieran that I would try and convince him my way, I made no promises to her."

The princess huffed, her arms folded across her chest. Today, she was wearing long black dress with silver trimming. Her blood-stained armor was somewhere in her room being polished and cleaned by one of the maids.

"You disobeyed my orders to follow hers."

"I made no promises," Mariah repeated. "I did as I was told, I spoke with Roran and told him to come with us in the morning, yet he ran before we had the chance to get him to come along."

"You warned them."

"You have no proof of the matter," she said, shaking her head, "I did not warn them. I merely did as I was told. If Kieran had spoken with them, they would have done the same. The chances that they would listen to me were much higher, know that. They still decided to run, for fear of you. Most of the people fear you, Galbatorix, surely you know that." Mariah said to him.

He tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair and nodded slowly, clearly deep in thought. "Very well… you shall be punished later. For now, I need you to assist Kieran in training Murtagh. Since he is now a Rider, it's your duty to make sure he is properly prepared, since I am too busy to teach him myself. The two of you have only a few months. I intend on retaliating against the fools in the little rebellion they call the Varden soon enough… they will not so easily vanquish my army this time. Not when I have three Riders on the field against their one… no." Galbatorix stood and started across the grand hall slowly, moving to the double doors in silence, deep in thought.

Mariah stood still as he passed by, staring blankly at the wall to avoid any more attention. When he left she looked at Kieran.

"We better go find Murtagh then, father will be displeased if we wait too long to start training." She turned and started for the doors. "I must change. Find him and meet me in the court yards in half an hour." Kieran said, turning down a side passage towards her wing of the castle.

Sighing, Mariah started back towards her and Murtagh's rooms. _Galbatorix is going to attack the Varden?_

_No, he is going to make you, Kieran and Murtagh attack the Varden._

_I won't._

_You'll have to darling, unless you figure out a way to break from this mess you've gotten into. They distrust you now more than ever, after allowing Roran to escape._

_Do you think I was wrong to do so?_

_No, I believe you did the right thing. It caused more trouble for us, but you never would have forgiven yourself had you allowed him to be in harm's way. He is Eragon's cousin after all. You all are practically family._

_Might as well call him that…_ she sighed and pushed open the door to Murtagh's room. It was empty. "Great." She walked in anyway and looked around, figuring he'd show back up soon enough. Browsing the bookshelf for a minute, she caught sight of a stray hand-bound volume. She popped it open and saw a swirling handwriting filling most of the pages. Mariah flipped a few pages, looking at a few simple drawings of flowers and the like. "This can't be Murtagh's." She chuckled a little, turning the page again and finding a poem.

Mariah started reading it silently, and then realizing the words sounded familiar, reading the words in a rhythm. As soon as she remembered it was something Mark had always hummed to her when she was little, she tried recalling where he'd learned it from. It must have been from Brom, she couldn't think of anyone else who would teach Mark a song that he would use so often. Walking over by the window, she continued flipping the pages, singing the song to herself quietly, finding comfort in the words and memories.

She flicked her head up at the sound of footsteps. Murtagh was staring at her, looking slightly puzzled. "Yes?"

"…how did you know that was a song?"

Mariah stared at him, "What?"

He shook his head, walking over to her and motioning toward the book. "That book was one of my mother's journals, so to speak. The words you were singing are written in it… like a poem, but she always sang it to me when I was younger."

"Oh," Mariah stared at him a moment. "…Mark used to sing it to me when I was little."

"He did?" He raised an eyebrow at her, "As far as I knew she made it up herself…"

"That is strange. Perhaps she couldn't remember where she'd heard it first."

"Perhaps." Murtagh nodded. "You sing wonderfully by the way."

Mariah shook her head, "I do not. I think you are bias because of what I was singing. Oh… we're supposed to go down to the court yard with Kieran."

"When?"

"Now," she said, glancing outside. "She's probably wondering where we are."

Murtagh shrugged, "She can wait." He turned on his heel, walking out, carrying Thorn on his shoulder. She followed quickly, setting the journal on a table nearby before falling into step with him.

* * *

After the initial bout of pain from the scar across his back, Eragon recovered quickly, though was constantly aware of his movement, in order to avoid a relapse. The days they spent traveling up river were filled with training and teaching by Arya, Orik and the other dwarves.

When they reached the Edda River, they relinquished their raft for donkeys. Dwarves never used horses. Eragon was able to ride Snowfire for the first time in several long days. Arya however, insisted on running and she was easily able to outstrip the war horse without slowing her pace or becoming weary.

After four days of traveling, they were in sight of Du Weldenvarden. When they camped for the night, Arya stopped him just before he went to turn in, materializing at his shoulder. He jumped slightly and opened his mouth to speak when he felt her invade his mind, _Follow me as silently as you can._

The contact surprised him as much as the request. They had shared thoughts during the flight to Farthen Dur – it had been the only way Eragon could speak to her through her self-induced coma – but since Arya's recovery, he had made no attempt to touch her mind again. It was a profoundly personal experience. Whenever he reached out to another person's consciousness, it felt as if a facet of his bare soul rubbed against theirs. It seemed boorish and rude to initiate something so private without an invitation, as well as a betrayal of Arya's trust, slender as it was. Also, Eragon was afraid that such a link would reveal his new and confused feelings for Arya.

Since they had started traveling together, he felt drawn toward her – it seemed that she understood him better than anyone else he'd met since becoming a Rider. Though, every time such feelings arose something told him it was wrong to think as such. Something told him he shouldn't pursue his feelings, He was embarrassed to say anything to her, and Saphira refused to advise him for or against it, telling him that it was his job to sort them out now. The fact she didn't outright disapprove was encouraging, but he still felt guilty for some reason.

He accompanied her as she slipped out form the ring of tents, carefully evaded one of the dwarves, who had taken the first watch, and passed beyond the dwarves' hearing. Within him, Saphira kept a close watch on his progress, ready to leap to his side if need be.

Arya squatted on a moss-eaten log and wrapped her arm around her knees without looking at him. "There are things you must know before we reach Ceris and Ellesméra so that you do not shame yourself or me through your ignorance."

"Such as?" He crouched opposite her, curious.

Arya hesitated. "During my years as Islanzadí's ambassador, it was my observation that humans and dwarves are quite similar. You share many of the same beliefs and passions. More than one human has lived comfortably among the dwarves because he or she can understand their culture, as they understand yours. You both love, lust, hate, fight, and create in much the same manner. Your friendship with Orik and your acceptance into Dûrgrimst Ingeitum are examples of this." Eragon nodded, although their differences seemed greater to him than that. "Elves, though, are not like other races."

"You speak as though you weren't one," he said, echoing her words from Farthen Dûr.

"I have lived with the Varden for enough years to become accustomed to their traditions," replied Arya in a brittle tone.

"As… So then do you mean to say that elves don't have the same emotions as dwarves and humans? I find that hard to believe. All living things have the same basic needs and desires."

"That is not what I mean to say!" Eragon recoiled, then frowned and studied her. It was unusual for her to be so brusque. Arya closed her eyes and placed her fingers on her temples, taking a long breath. "Because elves live for so many years, we consider courtesy to be the highest social virtue. You cannot afford to give offense when a grudge can be held for decades or centuries. Courtesy is the only way to prevent such hostility from accumulating. It doesn't always succeed, but we adhere to our rituals rigorously, for they protect us from extremes. Nor are elves fecund, so it is vital that we avoid conflict among ourselves. If we shared the same rate of crime as you or the dwarves, we would soon be extinct.

"There is a proper way to greet the sentinels in Ceris, certain patterns and forms that you must observe when presented to Queen Islanzadí, and a hundred different manners in which to greet those around you, if it's not better to just remain quiet."

"With all your customs," Eragon risked saying, "it seems as though you've only made it easier to offend people."

A smile flickered across her lips. "Perhaps. You know as well as I that you will be judged by the highest standards. If you make a mistake, the elves will think you did it on purpose. And only harm will come if they discover that it was born of ignorance. Far better to be thought rude and capable than rude and incapable, else you risk being manipulated like The Serpent in a match of Runes. Our politics move in cycles that are both subtle and lengthy. What you see reaches back millennia, and may have no bearing on how that elf will behave tomorrow. It is a game that we all play but few control, a game that you are about to enter.

"Now perhaps you realize why I say elves are not like other races. The dwarves are also long-loved, yet they are more prolific than us and do not share our restraint or our taste for intrigue. And humans…" She let her voice fade into tactful silence.

"Humans," said Eragon, "do the best they can with what they are given."

"Even so."

"Why don't you tell Orik all this as well? He'll be staying in Ellesméra, same as me."

An edge crept into Arya's voice. "He is already somewhat familiar with our etiquette. However, as a Rider, you would do well to appear better educated than him."

Eragon accepted her rebuke without protest. "What must I learn?"

* * *

"I don't think I'll ever move again," Murtagh said, muffled as his face moaned into his mattress.

Mariah shook her head, patting Thorn on the head, causing him to purr. "Don't complain, that was nothing. What little energy you used up today is nothing compared to what you'll be able to do when we're through teaching you what we know."

He sat up slowly, looking at her. "Why do you know so much already anyway? It's not like you were always a Rider, right? I'm pretty sure I remember you telling me it had only been a few months."

She looked toward the window, watching the huge black dragon circling around her own fiery orange one before turning back to Murtagh. Sitting next to him on the edge of the bed, she sighed a little, "Brom had always taught us everything he knew about dragons… and sword fighting… and magic. Magic isn't simply learned, not everyone can use it. You have to have some magic in your blood already in order for anything to come from using it, or you risk harming yourself. Obviously, since Brom was a Rider, we have it in our blood – me and Mark. I realize now that the reason he taught me, specifically, how to use a sword and fight, was so that I could protect myself in the event of Galbatorix finding him and attacking us." Mariah paused, then quoted her brother, "It's one thing for a young man to learn swordplay, another for a lady."

"My mother knew how to fight with swords-"

"Your mother was married to Morzan," she pointed out, standing back up and walking to the window to look outside.

"When I was healing you, earlier… I noticed something."

"What?"

He hesitated, "Your ears are quite pointed now… I mean… you're starting to look like Arya."

"Kieran's ears are far more pointed than my own," she said, looking in an embellished mirror on the wall. Mariah sighed, brushing her hair aside and blinked, "It's what happens when you're a Rider. Yours are going to do the same."

"It's so strange the effects magic has on people when they become Riders. It's like you turn into an entirely different person."

"Not entirely different," she insisted, letting her hair down again. "But it is strange, what happens to you, yes." Mariah agreed, sighing a little and tracing the lines along her arms. If Murtagh hadn't become a Rider while she was gone, she might have died from those wounds Kieran inflicted upon her. Mariah felt as though she owed him something now, for saving her life, however had yet to bring up the matter, and avoided the topic all together if she could manage.

"Have you spoken to your brother since we got here?"

"No." She said quietly, staring out the window.

"You can't… can you?"

Mariah shook her head, biting her lip as her throat closed up a little, "There's too much magic blocking my own. I can't scry anyone outside the castle grounds." Her voice dropped a little as she tried not to think about it. "I wish I could talk to him, make sure he's alright. I want to warn him, about what's going to happen… about Kieran and now you."

"Me?" Murtagh asked, puzzled.

"Bound to Galbatorix by an oath, and you're a Rider now… if he wanted to, he could have you kill them all."

"I wouldn't."

"You may not want to, but you would have to, bound by an oath taken in the Ancient Language. There are no escapes from something like that."

He sighed, "I'm sorry-"

"Don't be, you didn't have a choice," Mariah insisted, walking back over to him. "I would have done the same in your position."

"No, you wouldn't have. I don't think you would have. I'm sure there would have been something, some way for you to get out of it."

She smiled a bit, "I'm not as clever as that… to fool the king."

"I know of only one person who is clever enough to fool the likes of Galbatorix," Murtagh said, "And you remind me very much of her."

"Who?" She asked, blinking.

"Kendra," he told her. "Kieran's twin sister. Kieran's much nicer, saner, twin sister," he added. "She supposedly escaped and is hiding. I hope she's headed for the Varden."

"You really think she would? I mean, she still is Galbatorix's daughter after all."

He nodded, "I know, you probably think she'd be insane for thinking the child of the Varden's worst enemy would be welcome by them. She probably wouldn't be and they would probably hate her and mistrust her. However, she would be a valuable asset to them. I'm sure, with enough time, they would be willing to listen to what she had to say. It's always been a secret dream of hers to overthrow Galbatorix and give the people a proper ruler."

Mariah smiled, "She sounds a little insane."

"I think it runs in the family." He smirked a bit and chuckled.

It was nice to hear a laugh, she thought, after everything being so awful here. "What's she like then, Kendra?" Mariah asked him, anything to keep him in a better mood. It made her feel happier as well.

"Where should I start?" He leaned back on his hands and looked at the ceiling, petting Thorn absently. "Well, she's a princess. Through and through. Hates when you call her that. Kieran on the other hand, if you do not address her as "Princess Kieran" she might have your head swiped clean off your shoulders. Kendra, however, would much rather be a soldier. Where Kieran likes fighting for the fun of it, to see blood and cause pain, Kendra enjoys fighting for the sport. It's the skill and honor of swordplay that makes her fight… the rush that you get while in a battle."

"I know that feeling all too well now," Mariah nodded.

"She likes animals, especially dogs and horses. Her dog… well, it's not a dog really, it's a wolf." He shivered a bit, "Awful creature sometimes and enjoying biting the hell out of my ankles. Found it as a pup in the woods one day while she was out hunting. When she came back with a baby wolf instead of a buck, I thought she'd gone mad. She holds it up to me and beams like she's holding a newborn baby, 'Isn't he the most adorable thing you've ever seen?'" He imitated a girls' voice, causing Mariah to laugh. "Oh, it was dreadful, because the only thing I could do at that point was agree and say nothing, right?"

Mariah wiped at her eyes, "Yes, of course."

"But I didn't. I protested and told her that it was going to bite her and kill her in her sleep. She slapped me across the face and kept it anyway. Oh, and how he hates me. I'm positive she trained him to nip at me just for fun." Murtagh shook his head, "Named him Nyx, because he's all black and gray."

"What else haven't you told me about her?"

Murtagh paused, thinking, "I don't know what else to tell you… honestly. I haven't seen her for months… I am a little worried about her."

"A little worried?"

He chortled slightly, "Alright, a lot worried. It's just so dangerous to go anywhere alone now, with this rebellion starting against Galbatorix. And she's the princess… the likelihood of her getting kidnapped or killed is ten times higher than any other woman and on top of that the king has his men out looking for her. If she's still alive now, it's because she knows how to keep herself hidden and survive in the wilds. She's a brilliant hunter and an excellent swordsman-"

"Swordswoman," Mariah corrected him.

He chuckled, "Swordswoman. I'm sorry. And she knows how to use magic, better than Kieran does for sure…"

"A little frightening from the sound of her."

"Oh, she is. Terrifying." He chuckled, "You wouldn't think that from the looks of her though. You know how deceiving Kieran looks? Well, Kendra doesn't have that crazy look in her eyes, so her deception is almost worse."

Mariah smiled, "From what you've told me about her, I'm sure Kendra is just fine. I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"I hope you're right Mariah," Murtagh insisted, "I really hope you're right."

* * *

"Nasuada, I think we've reached the border." Mark said, catching up to her in their procession line, Aluora's hooves clattering against the underground stone passageway.

She looked up ahead and smiled, her black roan charger, Battle-storm, nickering and tossing his head back at the sunlight. "It appears so. Surda is only a little farther away now."

"It's my opinion that we camp for the night at the entrance to the tunnels… in case there's any trouble, we have an escape route."

"That would be a good plan, yes," Nasauda nodded to him. "Inform the commanders."

"Yes m'lady," he said, turning his she-horse around and racing her back down the tunnel, informing everyone of their camping site for the evening. When he'd finished, he returned to Nasuada and dismounted Aluora. "King Orrin of Surda will be pleased to see you."

She sighed a little and sat on the tunnel floor, splaying her skirts. "He was not too intent upon supporting the Varden before the battle in Farthen Dûr."

"That was before however, now, he should realize that Galbatorix is likely to cause trouble for him. If he doesn't assist the Varden now, it will cost him much later. His own army, combined with ours may be enough to overthrow Galbatorix and turn the tide of this war." Mark said to her, kneeling down, blinking at the young woman.

"I dearly hope you're right," she said. "King Orrin is very involved in his own scientific experimentations however, so I don't know how much time he will spend planning out war strategies."

Mark shook his head, "We can figure out our own strategies if need be. As long as he gives us his permission to use his army, we can win this war. All we need is his support. If he wants to lock himself inside and act like an alchemist, let him. I believe you have more important matters to attend to."

"Indeed." Nasauda nodded, looking up as Angela strode to them. "Ah, Angela, is there something I can help you with?"

"Trianna and her magical troupe of troublemakers are causing a fuss. They keep insisting they're trying to practice but they are causing more harm than anything else."

Mark stood, "I'll take care of them. Angela, if you would be so kind as to show me to them – Nasuada, I shall return shortly."

"Very well then, see that they are put back in their place."

"You can count on it," Mark said, striding after Angela. "So, where is it they're causing the trouble at?"

"What trouble?"

He blinked at her, "Trianna…"

"Trianna's not causing any trouble." Angela said simply.

"Then… what's the problem?"

"There is no problem; I was quietly and carefully pulling you away from Nasuada."

"…because?"

Angela paused in a small hollowed out area in the side of the tunnel wall, "You seem a little stressed."

Mark blinked at the short, curly-haired witch, "You're joking."

"I most certainly am not." She insisted, "You seem a little stressed, so I thought I should pull you away for a moment to allow you to reflect on this idea."

Staring at Angela, he couldn't believe she was so insane. Mark heaved another sigh and folded his arms, thinking. He was a bit stressed, with moving the Varden to Surda lately. He'd been tense, readied for yet another fight with Galbatorix's armies. There had been no word from his sister, Eragon or Arya and it was starting to worry him. Not to mention the last time he scried home to Carvahall, there had been flames blazing everywhere in sight. "Let there be a day when I don't have something to worry about."

"Today and that day have many in between," Angela said. "When we arrive in Surda, I suggest you make preparations."

"For what?"

"Doom," she said, throwing her head back and cackling. "For your doom!"

"I'm leaving," he announced to her, turning and heading back toward Nasuada.

"Mark!"

He spun on his heel, growling a bit under his breath and spotting Trianna. "Yes? What is it?"

"You've been busy as of late. I was just wondering if you'd thought any more about my… offer…" she said, stepping up against him and setting her dainty fingers on his chest.

"No," he said flatly. "I have some things to attend to now with Lady Nasuada, excuse me." Mark pulled away from her and strode back to the head of the convoy. Greeting Nasuada, he said, "We shall ride into Surda tomorrow morning, and it will take but a few days to reach Aberon. I'm going out to explore and make sure there are no threats to the Varden for tomorrow." He waited until she nodded, then mounted Aluora and clicked his tongue, trotting her out of the tunnel and into the morning sunlight.

As his mare counted in the gravel, he smiled and took a deep breath of fresh air, closing his eyes. The air filling his lungs felt cold and crisp, exactly what he would have expected to wake up to in Carvahall. Mark patted Aluora's neck and spurred her onward, looking around the open countryside of Surda. After parting from the rocky foothills onto a flattening plain of grass, he whistled. The white mare shot off like an arrow, running flat out as fast as she could with her rider lying low against her back, kicking up dust as they went. It had been so long since he'd been able to run with her he'd nearly forgotten how the wind felt rushing through his hair. The trees whipping past them blurred into the background before dropping beyond his field of vision. After several long minutes, he gripped the reins and pulled her into him. She snorted and pulled her head up, jumping into a canter. Mark smiled and surveyed their position.

They had made it far from the mouth of the tunnel and had entered into a mildly populated area. He was getting ready to turn his she-horse back around to make a perimeter search when an arrow whipped past them. Aluora barely flinched.

"Who goes there!"

_Was that a question? _Mark blinked and flicked his eyes toward the sound of the voice. "Show yourself!"

A man stepped out of the woods, carrying a bow in his hand, a quiver on his hip. He was wearing a dark green outfit that blended well with the surrounding forests. His cuirass portrayed a white embellished horse head. The helmet he wore had a similar horse motif hammered into the sides. It was apparent this man was wearing a uniform of sorts, likely the crest of a nobleman that owned these lands. Why else wear such obviously ornate armor? "State your name and business."

He relaxed a little, _Only a guard. _Mark responded, "Marcus. I'm traveling to Surda."

"No one travels to Surda from the Empire without passing through the checkpoints. Where are your papers?"

"Who do you work for? King Orrin or someone else?"

The guard blinked, clearly not used to being questioned. "My orders come directly from Lord Breezewood."

"May I speak with him? I'm here on business to the capital of Aberon."

He stared at Mark until Aluora nickered. The guard snapped to attention and said, "Follow me, Sir Marcus."

Clicking his tongue, Aluora trotted after the man while Mark sat in his saddle, smug and pleased with himself. After riding through the small village and gaining much attention, they arrived at a large gated estate. Mark dismounted and set his hand on Aluora's nose, telling her silently to stay. She counted in the grass and bobbed her head as the guard led Mark up the stairs, inside.

"What is the meaning of this? Who is this? Arriving unannounced?"'

Before the guard had a chance to speak, Mark stepped ahead of him, "My sincerest apologies, Lord Breezewood. Please, allow me to explain."

"Go on." The short, balding man said, looking up at Mark curiously.

"First, I must ask: do you know anything of the Varden?"

"The Varden? Why would you ask me such a thing?" He shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I have no need to know about them."

"I mean you no harm, please, speak with me honestly."

Lord Breezewood looked at him suspiciously for a moment, before responding, "I know of the Varden. My land is situated on the border of the Beor Mountains where the dwarves dwell. The Varden is allied with them, of course I know about them."

"Do you know of their actions as of late?"

"Actions? If you are referring to that awful war they had with the Empire's forces, then yes, I am well aware. I pity any who were involved in that skirmish, though I suppose it can't be helped."

Mark relaxed slightly, "I've heard that King Orrin is preparing to assist their efforts now that it's come to such a situation."

"Yes, yes, I have been made aware of King Orrin's intentions. I believe he should have assisted them long ago, who am I to argue with the king, eh? My small village here grows some of the food that is sent to the Varden. They need every assistance we can afford to give them."

"I am pleased to hear it."

The man nodded, "Now, if you would so kindly explain why it is you've come here unannounced?"

"Of course," Mark said, "I am Lady Nasuada's personal guard. As the leader of the Varden, she has sent me ahead to scout for trouble and I thought I would bring word to you that the Varden will shortly be arriving and traveling through your lands."

He blinked, "Shortly?"

"Tomorrow," Mar corrected himself, "I thought it wise to inform you, so that you don't believe you've come under attack by bandits or the Empire."

"Yes. Thank you for… informing me. King Orrin knows of your coming arrival?"

"He does. It was by his word that my Lady chose to bring the Varden to Surda. It's at this juncture due to the recent developments in the Empire. Their attack on Farthen Dûr was a turning point; we've decided this has become a full rebellion."

"I see…"

Mark nodded, "By chance, do you have a courier that I might be able to send a message with to Aberon? I would like to send word ahead to King Orrin that we shall be arriving in the capital shortly."

"Oh, yes, yes, of course." The short man nodded, looking at his guard, "Fetch me Dravin." A few moments later a young man of thirteen or so appeared, blinking at Lord Breezewood. "You are to take a message from Sir Marcus to Aberon. The message is going straight to King Orrin, make sure no one else is shown the letter before then."

The boy nodded and looked at Mark.

"I'm afraid I haven't a written letter. Would you mind?"

"No, no, of course not. Please," he waved a hand toward a desk nearby.

Mark strode over and hurriedly found a piece of paper and a quill. His handwriting quickly filled the page, fluid letters seeping into the paper. When he finished, he ran his finger along the edge, muttering under his breath. "Mor'amr wiol Könungr Orrin. Skölir thornessa kvaedhi frá haina." He looked up at the boy and handed him the paper. "Please make sure it arrives into King Orrin's hands safely." Mark smiled at the boy.

"Dravin, take the fastest horse in the village, get it to Aberon quickly."

"Yes m'lord." He bowed quickly and shot out of the room.

Mark turned to the lord, "Thank you again for all your help."

"It's no trouble. I am pleased to assist the Varden. Tomorrow, be sure to stop in again with your Lady. I will be grateful to have her in my home."

"Consider it done." He nodded. "I should return to her now however. Thank you for your assistance. Tomorrow, expect to see the Varden on your horizon at dawn." Mark inclined his head in a small gesture of a bow and walked himself outside again, climbing on Aluora's back and wheeling her around. She nickered, rearing back for a moment before sprinting off the lord's ground and charging back towards the mountains.

* * *

_Mor'amr wiol Könungr Orrin. Skölir thornessa kvaedhi frá haina._ - Open for King Orrin. Shield this letter from harm.

* * *

QUESTION: Is there anything that you don't like? Anything that you want to see? Anything you think you want to happen? Please, please, give me feedback, without it I have very little direction aside from the books.

I've done my best to try and make everything purposeful. The parts with Eragon are still a good way to keep track of what's going on. I think the next parts are going to have to speed up a bit, because in the book, aside from Eragon's training with the elves, it's all Roran. And since no one's with Roran, I'm not going to be writing everything out about his journey.

Nyx – Kendra's wolf's name, a Greek Goddess

Nox – The Latin translation and equivalent of Nyx

Night – Which both Nyx and Nox mean, the Goddess of Night or just Night

Title Explanation: It's night time during most of this chapter… see what I did there? I'm so clever. Haha… ha… no.

* * *

I do apologize for how late this chapter seems from the others, but I've been self-reflecting a lot lately on top of being extremely busy.

Writing this story is fun, though time-consuming. I love seeing everyone that reads this story come back for every chapter. The updates I receive on my e-mail are always so encouraging and I have been feeling slightly guilty about not posting a new chapter for a while.

Hopefully, this won't happen again where there's such a large lull. I'm planning on working and going to school however, so it might be a while between chapters. For the rest of the month though, I'm going to try my best to get five chapters up. My goal was to get through Eldest by the end of summer – that didn't happen. But it's okay. We'll get there eventually.

So, thank you to everyone for reading and following. I really do appreciate all your support.

With Love, As Always,

Mariah


	11. Ch 51: Black Lightning

**Chapter Fifty-One: Black Lightning**

"Tell me, Eragon-finiarel… What do your people sing about in these dark days? I remember the epics and lays I heard in Ilirea – sagas of your proud kings and earls – but it was long, long ago and the memories are like withered flowers in my mind. What new works have your people created?" Eragon frowned as he tried to recall the names of stories Brom had recited. When Lifaen heard them, he shook his head sowrrowfully and said, "So much has been lost. No court ballads survive, and, if you speak truly, nor does most of your history or art, except for fanciful tales Galbatorix has allowed to thrive."

"Brom once told us about the fall of the Riders," said Eragon defensively. An image of a deer bounding over rotting logs flashed behind his eyes from Saphira, who was off hunting.

"Ah, a brave man." For a minute, Lifaen paddled silently. "We too sing about the Fall… but rarely. Most of us were alive when Vrael entered the void, and we still grieve for our burned cities – the red lilies of Éwayëna, the crystals of Luthivíra – and for our slain families. Time cannot dull the pain of those wounds, not if a thousand thousand years passed and the sun itself dies, leaving the world to float in eternal night."

Orik grunted in the back. "As it is with the dwarves. Remember, elf, we lost and entire clan to Galbatorix."

"And we lost our king, Evandar."

"I never heard that," said Eragon, surprised.

Lifaen nodded as he guided them around a submerged rock, "Few have. Brom could have told you about it; he was there when the fatal blow was struck. Before Vrael's death, the elves faced Galbatorix on the plains of Ilirea in our final attempt to defeat him. There Evandar-"

"Where is Ilirea?" asked Eragon.

"It's Urû'baen, boy," said Orik. "Used to be an elf city."

Unperturbed by the interruption, Lifaen continued: "As you say, Ilirea was one of our cities. We abandoned it during our war with the dragons, and then, centuries later, humans adopted it as their capital after King Palancar was exiled."

Eragon said, "King Palancar? Who was he? Is that how Palancar Valley got its name?"

This time the elf turned and looked at him with amusement. "You have as many questions as leaves on a tree, Argetlam."

"Brom was of the same opinion," Eragon said.

Lifaen smiled, then paused, as if to gather his thoughts. "When your ancestors arrived in Alagaësia eight hundred years ago, they roamed far across it, seeking a suitable place to live. Eventaully, they settled in Palancar Valley – though it was not called such then – as it was one of the few defendable locations that we or the dwarves had not claimed. There your king, Palancar, began to build a mighty state.

"In an attempt to expand his borders, he declared war against us, though we had offered no provocation. Three times he attacked, an three times we prevailed. Our strength frightened Palancar's nobles and they pled with their liege for peace. He ignored their counsel. Then the lords approached us with a treaty, which we signed without the king's knowledge.

"With our help, Palancar was usurped and banished, but he, his family, and their vassals refused to leave the valley. Since we had no wish to murder them, we constructed the tower of Ristvak'baen so the Riders could watch over Palancar and ensure he would never again rise to power or attack anyone else in Alagaësia.

"Before long Palancar was killed by a son who did not wish to wait for nature to take its course. Thereafter, family politics consisted of assassination, betrayal, and other depravities, reducing Palancar's house to a shadow of its former grandeur. However, his descendants never left, and the blood of kings still runs in Therinsford and Carvahall."

"I see," said Eragon.

Lifaen lifted one dark eyebrow. "Do you? It has more significance than you may think. It was this event that convinced Anurin – Vrael's predecessor as head Rider – to allow humans to become Riders, in order to prevent similar disputes."

Orik emitted a bark of laughter. "That must have caused some argument."

"It was an unpopular decision," admitted Lifaen. "Even now some question the wisdom of it. It caused such a disagreement between Anurin and Queen Dellanir that Anurin seceded from our government and established the Riders on Vroengard as an independent entity."

"But If the Riders were separated from your government, then how could they keep the peace, as they were supposed to?" asked Eragon.

"They couldn't," said Lifaen. "Not until Queen Dellanir saw the wisdom of having the Riders free of any lord or king and restored their access to Du Weldenvarden. Still, it never pleased her that any authority could supersede her own."

Eragon frowned, "Wasn't that the whole point, though?"

"Yes… and no. The Riders were supposed to guard against the failings of the different governments and races, yet who watched the watchers? It was that very problem that caused the Fall. No one existed who could descry the flaws within the Riders' own system, for they were above scrutiny, and thus, they perished."

Eragon stroked the water – first one one side, then the other – while he considered Lifaen's words. His paddle fluttered in his hand as it cut diagonally across the current. "Who succeeded Dellanir as king or queen?"

"Evandar did. He took the knotted throne five hundred years ago – when Dellanir abdicated in order to study the mysteries of magic – and held it until his death. Now his mate, Islanzadí rules us."

"That's-" Eragon stopped with his mouth open. He was going to say _impossible_, but then realized how ridiculous that statement would sound. Instead, he asked, "Are elves immortal?"

In a soft voice, Lifaen said, "Once we were like you, bright, fleeting, and as ephemeral as the morning dew. Now our lives stretch endlessly through the dusty years. Aye, we are immortal, although we are still vulnerable to injuries of the flesh."

"You _became_ immortal? How?" The elf refused to elaborate, though Eragon pressed him for details. Finally, Eragon asked, "How old is Arya?"'

Lifaen turned his glittering eyes on him, probing Eragon with disconcerting acuteness. "Arya? What is your interest in her?"

"I…" Eragon faltered, suddenly unsure of his intentions. His attraction to Arya was complicated by the fact that she was an elf, and that her age, whatever it might be, was so much greater than his own. _She must view me as a child_. "I don't know," he said honestly. "But she saved both my life and Saphira's, and I'm curious to know more about her."

"I feel ashamed," said Lifaen, pronouncing each word carefully. "for asking such a question. Among our king, it is rude to pry into one's affairs… Only, I must say, and I believe that Orik agrees with me, that you would do well to guard your heart, Argetlam. Now is not the time to lose it, nor would it be well placed in this instance."

"Aye," grunted Orik.

Heat suffused Eragon as blood rushed to his face, like hot tallow melting through him. Before he could utter a retort, Saphira entered his mind and said, _And now is the time to guard your tongue. They mean well. Don't insult them._

He took a deep breath and tried to let his embarrassment drain away. _Do you agree with them?_

_I believe, Eragon, that you are full of love and that you are looking for one who will reciprocate your affection. No shame exists in that._ She paused, _You still feel guilty. _It wasn't a question.

_Yes. But I still don't know why. _

Saphira hummed slightly, _Do tell me when you figure it out young one._

* * *

"A bow is my worst weapon," Mariah admitted to Murtagh quietly. "My brother and Eragon were always much better at it than me."

"Were you using their bows?"

"Yes."

He nodded, "That's why then. They probably have a heavier draw because they're stronger than you. If you try something easier to pull back you might find it to your liking." He lowered his own bow and looked at her, "That's why I handed you that one."

She looked down at the bow in her hand. While they were arming themselves for training today with Kieran, he'd snatched the pretty hand carved bow out of her hands and placed a darker colored one in her palm before walking outside. Mariah pulled an arrow from her quiver and pulled back, finding the draw much easier than her brothers'. She adjusted herself and let out a slow breath, releasing the arrow, watching it smack into the middle of the target twenty meters away.

"Hate to say it, but I told you so."

Mariah narrowed her eyes up at Murtagh, watching his mouth flicker up into a smirk. Thorn let out a few snorts, sounding much like laughter as he covered his muzzle with his claws. The small red dragon was sitting on Andrar's nose while the older dragon lounged in the sunlight. "So you know more about archery, so what?"

"Nothing, glad I could help." He said, glancing over at Kieran. She was whipping arrow after arrow at her target, landing them dead center until the cluster was so thick that there wasn't room for any more. She huffed and stalked over, pulling them out and returning to her post, repeating the process. "Kieran, I think you've killed it." Murtagh said, raising his voice a bit to her.

She turned on him with her bow drawn, making Mariah jump a bit. Kieran released an arrow, shooting it at his feet. "I'll kill it ten more times, would you like to stand in front of my target Murtagh?"

"No, thank you," he said, snatching the arrow and tossing it away, rolling his eyes as she turned back to her target. After several more long hours of training, which left Murtagh exhausted and bleeding, they returned to their rooms. Thorn chirruped at her, pressing his nose against her hand as she extended it to him.

"Let me heal you up before you pass out, alright?" She insisted, running her fingers over the cuts on his arms where his vambraces hadn't shielded him. "There. Right as rain."

He smiled a bit at her, tiredly, "Thanks. Night."

"Night," Mariah said, "Night Thorn." She watched them turn and walk to their room before sliding her door shut and leaning against it, twisting the lock. Tearing her shirt over her head, she tossed it in a corner, finding a change of clothes to sleep in. _Andrar?_

_Yes darling, what is it?_

_I hate being here,_ she said, standing in the middle of the large overly-decorated room. _It's cold and awful. The only time I feel even remotely happy is when I'm with you or Murtagh and Thorn. I just want to go home…_ She told him, slipping to the floor and folding her legs, burying her face in her hands to hide the tears from herself.

She felt sadness and sympathy emitting from her dragon's consciousness. _I know how you feel darling. We shall have to find a way to leave this place. You must be strong and hold out a little longer._

_How much longer?_ Mariah asked, standing up again and picking up a book she'd been reading, chucking it as hard as she could toward the wall. The thump both against the wall and the floor weren't quite satisfying enough, but still made her feel the slightest bit better. _I'm going to go insane here Andrar…_

_At least you are still alive. _He pointed out to her sourly.

_I might as well be dead for all the good it's doing me sitting in here!_ She snapped at him, closing him off angrily, striding towards her bed. Mariah, catching her face in the mirror above her dresser, stopped abruptly. She caught her balance and let out a shaky breath, watching her face. A moment ago it had seemed vicious and cruel, her skin tinged with red as her blood boiled. "What am I doing?"

"Mariah?"

She jumped a bit and turned toward the door, answering it, "Yes?"

"I heard something, are you alright?" Murtagh asked, raising his eyebrows as he looked at her through the crack in the doorway.

"I'm… fine…" she said pathetically.

He looked back at her dubiously, "You don't look fine, what's wrong?"

"Nothing Murtagh, it's alright, really…"

"When a lady says nothing, she means something." He assured her, leaning his hand against the wall. "C'mon now, you can talk to me."

Mariah sighed, stepping back and letting him in her room, "It's nothing."

There was that look again. He flopped into a chair and stared at her, kicking his feet up on the table, folding his arms clearly in a gesture for her to talk about it. Murtagh looked quite content, as though he would sit there all night if he had to in order to get her to talk. The stubbornness was reminding her of her brother and she couldn't help but give in.

"I hate it here."

"Then leave."

"I can't."

"Course you can." He said.

Mariah shot him a glare, "I can't leave and still live."

"Ah, see that's where the problem lies. You care too much about your life." He smirked a bit. "If you didn't, you'd just leave."

"I'm not leaving you here either."

"That too, you just care too much, don't you?"

"I can't help it," she admitted weakly, slipping into a chair and rubbing her face again as tears threatened her eyes.

Murtagh leaned forward, looking at her, "Believe me, if I knew a way out of this mess, we'd be out of it already. You could have left when you went off with Kieran, but you didn't-"

"You were still here. I thought Galbatorix might have killed you."

"Right. You care too much. You didn't leave with Kieran, you came back. That, and your oath to Galbatorix sort of forced you to come back."

"He's going to get suspicious if I try and disobey him again. He'll make me swear something more specific, like he did with you." Mariah said, shivering a bit. It was raining outside and it was cold for summertime. "But I just want to leave."

"I'm sure we'll figure something out Mariah, we'll get out of here, I promise."

She shook her head, "Don't make promises you can't keep."

Murtagh snatched up her hands, "We will get out of here. I do promise you that Mariah." He smiled a little at her. "I won't leave without you either, I promise."

"…I…" No one made promises to her with such sincerity, not even Mark. "Thank you."

He nodded, standing up and walking to the door. She slipped after him, sighing and watching the floor, squeaking a bit when he hugged her. "Don't let being stuck here get to you Mariah, please. You make everything more bearable and if you give up, I'm probably going to as well. Try and get some rest now, please." Murtagh said, looking down at her.

"Alright," she said quietly, nodding.

"Good." He leaned down and kissed her cheek fleetingly before striding across the hall back to his room.

She blinked, watching the door close behind him.

* * *

She panted heavily, slamming her back up against the side of the building, closing her mouth to keep the noise of her breath down. As soon as she caught sight of a light flickering across the street she twisted and pushed off the wall, running again. Her feet pounded against the stone road beneath her heeled boots, the dagger against her ankle clicking in its sheath with every step. Skidding slightly in the road she turned down a side alley, finding it a dead end. The woman spun around before feeling her body getting slammed into the wall, letting out a small growl as the wind got knocked out of her.

"You decided to come here, it's nothing personal, you know. Just business."

Her midnight blue eyes flashed behind him, noting the other man at the end of the alley, making sure no one else happened to stroll down and interrupt their meeting. "Just the two of you?" She asked, regaining her breath.

The brown haired man pressed her harder into the wall, his knife up against her ribcage. "All we need to deal with you sweetheart."

"You don't work for Galbatorix." She smiled a bit, letting out a laugh.

His eyes narrowed, "What makes you say that?"

"No spy of Galbatorix would ever make the fatal mistake of going into a dead-end alleyway with one of his daughters." She let out a sharp whistle as he jammed the knife into her armored corset. From the street a rippling growl sounded, followed by a blur of black and gray. The man standing guard shouted and waved a dagger around wildly, trying to ward off the demon attacking him. It jumped and clamped down on his throat, blood spurting across the wall of the alley.

The man holding her let go and spun to see what was attacking, freezing in place as the wolf lowered its head, stalking towards him, fangs dripping with blood. No sooner had he blinked than an arrow was lodged halfway through his throat, leaving him unable to shout. He fell to his knees, screaming silently and trying to pull it out.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you," she said, walking around to face him, healing up her side with a silent spell. The wolf padded up to her and nosed her hand, wagging his tail. "You'll bleed out faster." She placed her fingers on his forehead, searching his mind rapidly before he fell over in a dead heap. "…Trevin. You're supposed to have better aim than that. You barely gave me enough time."

"Oh, Kendra, you're kidding ,right?" He threw a rope down off the roof and slipped down along it, his boots settling on the stone floor gracefully. "I knew you had plenty of time, otherwise I wouldn't have shot him in the throat." Trevin's bow was slung over his shoulder inside his quiver alongside a set of sixteen white-fletched arrows.

She raised an eyebrow at him and folded her arms, as if to ask, "honestly?"

Trevin smiled, tipping his head to the side a bit, his loose auburn hair falling over his golden-amber eyes, "You did get yourself stabbed though, found a chink in your corset did he?"

"Just a little one, I'm fine, thanks for asking." Kendra turned on her heel, the wolf padding along after her, leaving the two dead men lying in the alley in pools of their own blood. "Now let's get out of this gods-forsaken town." She quickly found her she-horse – a warm-blooded chestnut mare – and climbed up into her leather saddle. Trevin climbed atop the paint tied up next to her and spurred the stallion off southward.

The small city of Rimmel, in the Empire, was closer to the Surdan capital of Aberon than the counry's own city of Petrovya, leaving the trip back to base only a day away – at a solid running pace. Halfway back it started raining on them. Had it been anyone else riding next to him, Trevin would have started complaining. Kendra wasn't one to bother with pointless moaning about anything, especially rain. She happened to love the awful weather. The gray and black wolf ran alongside the mare, staying in Kendra's sights the entire way back.

They took side roads, avoiding travelers and towns as much they could until they reached Aberon. The large stone city was busy, too busy for anyone to notice the blood stains on Kenrda's corset. Setting up a base in a smaller city was simply asking for trouble, why hide when you can sit right under the law's nose? The horses were tethered up outside a small apothecary and their riders dismounted. They opened the door, leaving a bell to jingle overhead.

"Ah, my darlings! You're back!" An elderly woman with missing teeth smiled at them from behind the counter, "All went well I hope?"

"Yes Mama, of course." Kendra smiled at her, leaning on the counter. "No trouble while we were gone?"

"Now darling, why would you think there was?" Mama grinned wider, "There are some visitors in Aberon now. Trouble? I don't believe you will find them troublesome. No. Go now, you must be tired. I'll have dinner done later."

"Thank you Mama." She said, walking into the back room where all the potions and herbs were stored.

Trevin followed, helping move a few boxes in a corner. Underneath of them was a trap door. Kendra dropped down through it and he replaced the boxes, leaving no indication there was anything else there. He waited a moment beside the wolf, who sat there panting, then the shelves to his right shifted and opened, leading into a downward winding staircase. They slid the bookcase back over the doorway and descended.

"So, what's this Mama told me about visitors?" Kendra folded her arms as Trevin slipped around her, grabbing a chair and turning it around, sitting and leaning his arms over the back of it. Her eyes flicked around the room, "Delaney?"

The blonde shook his head, "Ro's lookin' into it." Delaney said, glancing up at her from the map on the table. "He'll be back soon." His dark brown eyes blinked once and then snapped back to the map, unable to hold her gaze for long.

"Good," Kendra said, slipping a chair out from the table and sitting down. "Nyx, sit." The wolf sat next to her, setting his head on her lap, allowing her to scratch him behind his ears.

They glanced over as they heard footfalls on the stairs, however the steps were too light and Kendra sighed, watching Delaney's cousin walk into the room. "You're back." She smiled at them, setting a platter of food down on the table, "Mama sent this down, said you're probably starving."

"Thanks Erika," Trevin said, snatching up a piece of bread and chomping into it.

"Welcome," she said, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder, "So, Kendra, did you figure anything out?"

"No," she shook her head, refusing to eat anything until she had the news about the visitors. "They were fakes. I think the real ones set them up as fakes. They had out-dated information and didn't even recognize me."

Trey smirked a little, sneaking a piece of cheese off the plate, "It's not a good day if no one tries to kill Kendra."

Erika sighed, "Well, I don't know what to tell you darlin'. Rowan said he'll be back as soon as he figures out what's going on at the castle. So, will you eat something? And yes, he is likely to stay there late into the night, you know how it is."

"Fine," she agreed finally, taking a piece of bread and cheese from the plate after tossing Nyx a chunk of meat. He snapped it up, growling slightly as he gnawed on the bone. "How long has he been gone?"

"Couple hours, but he's always overly thorough when he does his research." Trey told her, watching as she stood up, walking down the hallway, opening the door at the end and closing it behind Nyx.

He flopped back down on the rug, chewing on his bone, watching Kendra out of his dark eyes. She sighed and sat down on the edge of her bed, pushing her boots off with the opposite foot before leaning back against the wall. Brushing her shoulder-length brown hair out of her face, she ate her food slowly in silence, listening to their quiet speech in the main room wafting down the hallway, waiting for Rowan to return with good news.

* * *

"I shall refuse to let you scour my fellow Surdans without proper compensation."

Mark leaned up against the wall behind Nasuada, rolling his eyes a bit. _Here we go again._ He listened and watched the man speak on and on._ Pay attention Marcus. Your involvement directly effects Nasuada_. Adjusting his balance, he stepped away from the wall and watched King Orrin speaking to Nasuada about the Varden. They were still low on supplies, very low. And after traveling through Surda to the capital of Aberon, they had wiped out much of the nearby farmlands supply of crops and livestock. "King Orrin, if I may interject."

He stopped abruptly, looking at Mark, clearly confused as to why he was there, not having seen him approach.

"If you are indeed so upset by the state of your countrymen, I suggest compensating them yourself. We have not the funds to be spared. All of us are extremely grateful for your peoples' help and generosity these past few days. However, all of our efforts must be towards the rebellion against the Empire and Galbatorix. You see where there may inline a problem?"

"Yes, yes, I see very well," he nodded. "I suppose I'll just have to spread funds from the treasury to reimburse those who have helped you."

"And excellent idea your majesty, if I do say so myself."

"Very well then, it shall be done."

Nasuada smiled at King Orrin, "Can we expect no further inquiries on the subject?"

"Of course lady," he nodded.

Mark inclined his head to the King. "If you've finished with your questions today, I'm sure you have to get back to your experimentation soon, yes?"

"Oh! Quite," he said, turning and hurrying off before something caught fire yet again.

He watched the man leave and glanced at Nasuada. She picked up her skirts and turned to the door, thanking him when he held it open for her. "You seem to know precisely what to say and when to say it Marcus."

"I pride myself on my ability to do such Nasuada." Mark said, walking out with her. "But he is right you know, we can't afford to keep taking so much from the people in Surda."

She sighed a little, looking over the courtyard where Orrin's guards were clad in orange. "I know this. I simply haven't yet come up with a good solution."

Mark looked back at her and smiled a bit, "Seeing as we're no longer traveling or fighting the Empire on a daily basis, it's my opinion that we allow the people in the Varden to do as they like here in Surda. It's so very difficult to keep rations to feed so many. Growing our own food and keeping our own livestock might help balance the equation a little more."

"Talk anymore like that and I'll send you back to Orrin." She chuckled, thinking about his idea. "It seems to be fair enough… if King Orrin would allow us to have some of the land around Surda… and to purchase or trade for animals, yes. It seems like it would work."

"Go ahead and think it over some more, tell me when you've come to a decision and we'll go speak to Orrin together." Mark said, stopping outside her room. "I'll see you later then."

"Of course, thank you Mark." She said, going into her room.

He stretched a bit and walked down the staircase into the entryway. All this talk about food was making him hungry though, so he turned and decided to search out the kitchens. Hallway after hallway he turned down, believing it was just around the corner. Finally, he stopped, "I've gotten myself properly lost this time." He looked both ways down the hall and muttered to himself, hoping a maid or squire happened to walk by and notice him. No such luck. Mark decided to turn around and try to find his way back, only to find a dead-end hall with a door at the end of it. "Better than nothing I suppose."

"Lost?"

Mark spun around and looked at the tall, skinny young man of twenty or so. He had dark hair and brilliant gray-blue eyes. "I appear to be yes. Trying to find the kitchens." His hands were tucked into the pockets of his coat. His clothes were embellished and expensive, his boots well worn but of excellent craftsmanship.

"You must be from the Varden then."

"I am," Mark nodded.

"If you're at the castle, that must mean you have some influence amongst them. Are you a general of their army?"

He shook his head, "Not entirely. I'm Nasuada's assistant, she's the leader of the Varden."

"I've heard her name lately," he nodded. "My name is Bran Gormal, my father is one of the lords here at the court."

"The son of a lord, well aren't you special." Mark said, smirking at him a bit. Disrespectful as it may have been, making fun of him, he'd had enough experience with lords in the past few days being in Aberon to last him a lifetime. They were always pompous, rude and seemed to think he'd be better of lying dead on a river bottom. True as it may have been, he'd always come back with a polite retort to which they sneered and walked away. Now, he was lost, hungry and sick of dealing with them all, this man was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Bran raised an eyebrow at him, "Oh… well, aren't you a little aggravated… you know I know how to get out of this dead-end hallway."

"You do?"

"Yes." He nodded.

Mark blinked, "Please tell me how."

He nodded again, "Of course. What's your name anyway?"

"Mark…"

"Alright Mark," he walked over next to him and pointed down the hall, "You go down this hall, take a right, then a left, go all the way to the end of the hall again and go up the stairs, then take another left, you'll be where you started. From there you're going to go down the stairs, through the set of double doors and-" Bran smirked a bit, holding onto his dagger tightly, watching Mark fall into an unconscious heap on the ground. "That was much easier than I anticipated."

When Mark woke, he was tied to a chair, gagged and staring right into the dark blue eyes of a woman only a few years older than his sister. He jerked backward, nearly tipping the chair over.

"Hey, take it easy; don't go breaking my favorite interrogation chair!" Mark glanced toward the tall dark haired lord's son.

"Rowan, you don't have an interrogation chair," Trevin said.

He watched the ginger with an unamused expression, "Have I ever used a different chair for interrogations?"

Trevin blinked, "Huh. No, suppose you haven't. Guess I never really noticed."

"Boys," Kendra stood up, looking at both of them in turn. They quieted back down quickly. "Good. Now. Mark, was it? Care to tell me why you and your merry little band of freedom fighters are in Aberon?" She reached over and pulled the cloth out of his mouth.

"No." He said flatly. _How did I not see that dagger? It was in his pocket the whole time; he was fondling it the entire time he was talking to me! I knew he was, I just didn't care enough? What was I thinking? Nasuada. Damn them. She's going to be wondering where I've gone._

She raised an eyebrow at him. "We're not going to kill you. Or Nasuada or anyone else. Yet. Now, please explain to me why you're here."

"The Varden is in Aberon to gain assistance from King Orrin." That much everyone knew. "We're planning on retaliating against the Empire's forces."

"Retaliating against Galabtorix?" From behind her Nyx growled. "You must all be much crazier than Rowan said you were."

Mark kept his mouth shut, watching her.

Kendra shook her head, sitting down in the chair opposite of him. "All I want is information. You can tell me nothing about you and I'll tell you nothing about me, alright? We're on the same side. I want nothing more than to destroy Galbatorix and his Empire. He has gone on far too long without restraint and there is no one who can defy him alone. Not even a Dragon Rider," she said, poking Mark in the chest. "So wherever you're hiding your Riders, you might as well call them out, because nothing you have will be powerful enough to beat him."

"You're right," he said after a minute of sitting in silence. "Our Rider isn't strong enough to beat Galbatorix… yet… but he will be."

"You have more than one."

"No, we don't, Galbatorix thinks we do, but we have only one Rider. He's training right now."

"Training… with the elves in Ellesmera?"

Mark stared at her, lips parted in shock.

"He is," she nodded and stood back up. "You see Mark, I'm a good ally to have. We are all very talented, very skilled spies. Each of us has a specific skill that we can put into play depending on our situation." She motioned toward the dark haired man leaning on the wall in the corner. "You've already met Rowan, yes, he is the son of lord Gormal, but he prefers Rowan. Once you've spent enough time in Aberon, you'll come to know him as the King of the Black Palace. It's what we all call the underground city of Surda. No one steals anything, kills anyone or whispers without Rowan's say so. He laid claim to the title last spring when he dethroned the previous king. And by dethroned I mean murder. You shouldn't trust him around knives, swords, poison or any other sharp object for that matter if you don't know him personally or owe him a favor."

"Trevin," she motioned to the ginger sitting behind her, "Was formally trained by Galbatorix's archery division in his army and has recently fled the Empire to help his family. His unit in the Empire believes him to be dead. From three hundred feet away he can shoot a fly off the wall and leave it breathing. He specializes in long-distance assassinations. His personality is obnoxious at times, so you'll have to ignore him."

"Del's family died in a raid by the Imperials and now lives with his cousin, Erika. Her family is well known in the southern cities of Surda." Kendra pointed at the fair girl sitting in the chair. She was no older than his sister, sixteen or so. "For her own protection, she knows how to wield a dagger, however she mainly works with poisons and magic. Her ability to get close to high-ranking lords makes her indispensible. Her cousin on the other hand, is a little less flair and a little more blood." Delaney sighed a bit, looking at her with exasperation. He was a few years older than his cousin, but still had light blonde hair and brown eyes. "He's usually annoyed with everyone, which makes it difficult for him not to kill you in your sleep. If you hand him a spear, he'll skewer your head on it in a matter of seconds. Del's the one who keeps track of where everyone is and what's going on, without him keeping our books, we'd be a mess."

"Each and every one of us have perfect reflexes and will not hesitate to kill you if you threaten any of us, so for your own safety, don't." Kendra snapped her fingers and Trevin walked over, untying Mark. "We call ourselves Black Lightning and our goal is to destroy the Empire."

Mark stood up, rubbing his wrists and glancing around at them all, "Alright, but you still haven't mentioned a few things. What is that?"

"My wolf, his name is Nyx and he too will kill you if you keep asking stupid questions." The wolf at her feet growled at him, bearing bloodied fangs.

"Why are you letting me live?"

She smirked, "Because you live inside the Varden and know exactly what we need to know about everything Orrin and Nasuada are planning. We need you to keep in contact with us, in turn, we'll help you out. It's a fair exchange." She told him. "Now if those are all your questions you may leave."

"No, I have one more."

"And that is?"

"Who are you and why do you hate the Empire so much?"

The woman with the midnight-blue eyes looked at him with amusement, flicking her shoulder-length brown hair out of her face. "My name is Kendra and my father is Galbatorix."

* * *

Finiarel - an honorific phrase for a young man of great promise

Ristvak'baen - Place of Sorrow

* * *

Alright, well this was fun... everything except the first part was my own. Are you liking how I'm avoiding the main story or no? Any suggestions on how to make it better?

I don't really have much to say except that I'm working part time and going to school full time so this story is going to have little attention save probably on weekends. I'll do my best to get this to you all, since the loyal readers have been just that. I always appreciate your comments, concerns and questions. I hops this answers some and brings up some others.

With Love, As Always,

Mariah


	12. Ch 52: Ardent Revolutions

**Chapter Fifty-Two: Ardent Revolutions**

Kieran blinked, "What's wrong with you. It looks like you haven't slept in days."

Rubbing her eyes, Mariah shook her head, "I just didn't sleep well last night, that's all. I'm just a little tired." She growled slightly as Andrar chuckled in her head, knowing very well she'd been up all night furiously thinking about Murtagh. It had surprised her, though he'd always been kind and would openly talk to her about nearly anything, she'd never thought of him as being affectionate in any way. The sudden way it had occurred had been surprising as well, though now that she was thinking it over, she realized she should have seen it coming.

"Mariah!"

"Ah – what?" She jumped, looking at Kieran.

The princess narrowed her eyes and growled a bit, "I said, get ready, you and I are going to practice fight today in the court yard for Galbatorix."

"Oh…" she said simply, trudging to the armory to get ready. Mariah pushed open the heavy door and froze, staring at Murtagh.

"Morning," he said brightly. "Sleep well?"

She blinked, was he joking? Mariah stared back at him a moment more before going to find suitable weapons to give Kieran a thrashing for the day.

"…is… something the matter?" He asked, watching her as he tightened his vambraces.

Mariah bit her tongue and grabbed her sword, striding back out of the room to meet with Kieran in the courtyard. From a ways off Andrar was watching her, _You know why it is you're so upset, don't you darling?_

She shot him a glare, _No._

_Oh, but you do. Your heart's torn in two and your mind tells you no but you really want it to say yes. _

_Speak not in riddles dragon. _Mariah stared over at him a moment, hating every second of his silence. When she finally decided he wasn't going to continue she strode off to find Kieran. "Are you ready?"

"There you are; I was wondering if you were ever going to show up." She said, readying her blade.

Mid-way through their spar, Galbatorix strode out to watch them. He seemed pleased with Mariah's progress, despite Kieran holding back to make the match more even. When he'd seen enough, he stopped them both and turned to Murtagh, standing beside him. "I want you and Mariah to fight, and I don't want either of you holding back." The younger man straightened a bit, clearly wincing before stepping over to take Kieran's place.

"Don't hold back Mariah, I can handle myself."

Her eyes narrowed a bit at him and she lunged forward, already worn out from the fight with Kieran moments ago. With the sword she'd taken from the armory this morning being lighter than her previous ones, she was doing quite well. Her swings were a little wild, but it was to be expected since her mind was elsewhere.

Realizing she was out for blood, he gripped his sword tighter and defended himself, backing away from her attacks until he'd nearly been pinned against the wall. Catching her blade, he twisted his hand and shoved her back away from him so she stumbled. Before she could regain her balance, he slipped away from the wall and repositioned himself better to fight against her.

"Murtagh, you haven't even so much as tried to attack," Kieran mentioned to him, glancing over her nails. He flicked his gaze to her for a moment and then lashed out toward Mariah.

Parrying the blow, she fell into a series of maneuvers, allowing herself to avoid the majority of his attacks. A few swipes of his blade landed heavily against her leather armor, but none, thankfully, drew blood. Mariah snarled and twisted in closer against him, drawing a knife from her belt and jamming it deep into his left shoulder. He shoved her away, gritting his teeth and reaching up to grab the blade, wincing as it shifted in his muscles.

"Looks as if Mariah won this time," Kieran muttered, looking at the girl, impressed. If she'd wanted to, she could have easily dug the dagger into his heart and killed him on the spot. "I wouldn't pull the knife out yet Murtagh, you're going to bleed profusely."

"Then what do you suggest I do Kieran!?" He shouted at her, wincing painfully as he touched the knife again.

She folded her arms, "I suggest you get someone to pull it out and heal that gaping hole in your shoulder. And you know very well it's not the best idea to do all that yourself." Kieran glanced at her father and he nodded.

"You are all dismissed for the day. Murtagh, see me tomorrow and bring Thorn with you." He insisted as he stood and, without so much as a good-bye, left the courtyard.

Mariah shoved her sword back through the sheath at her side and pivoted on her heel, walking back inside, her stride long and purposeful. Her feet brought her to the armory, where she quickly stripped off any excess armor and dropped off her blade. Afterward, she went straight up to her room and slammed the door shut behind her.

"I don't know what you've done to make her so sore at you, but I suggest you find out quickly, because I refuse to assist you with that…" she motioned to his shoulder, "I don't particularly feel like getting blood all over myself today." Kieran told him flatly. He growled slightly and hurried after Mariah, dripping blood all along the stone floor, leaving extra work for the maids.

"Mariah!"

She glared at the door, sitting on her bed, trying to pry off her boots. Chucking one against the floor, she stomped over unevenly and flung it open, "What?" She growled out to him.

Setting his jaw, he looked at her hard for a moment before giving in and sighing, "Will you fix my arm… please?"

"Sit… down," she said, turning away from the door and kicking her other boot off. He did so and she walked back to him, grasping the dagger tight in her hand and wrenching it out without much warning. Murtagh clamped his teeth together, groaning as she flicked the bloodied knife onto the table and started healing up the wound. "There." Mariah told him, walking to her dresser and grabbing a handkerchief to clean the dagger.

"Mariah-"

"You're healed up, you can leave now."

"I didn't mean to upset you."

"Well, you have." She snapped, turning on him. Mariah snatched up the dagger and set to cleaning it furiously. "So you can leave now."

"Mariah." There was that tone again, the one that always got to her. "Look at me." She snapped her eyes up to his and moaned inwardly. "I did not intend on upsetting you. If you'd like we can pretend nothing happened."

"But it did, and that's where the problem lies." Mariah hissed.

He reached up and grabbed the knife away from her, placing it on the table. "Please sit down for a minute Mariah." She sat in the chair across from his and sighed. "Most women simply slap me when they're upset with me. I've never been stabbed by someone like that." Mariah stared at him, not giving him so much as a smile. "Mariah… I… I thought you wanted me to make an advance…"

"I never said that."

"Then let me apologize."

"I don't… know Murtagh."

He watched her a moment, "You don't know where this is going… or why…"

"Yes."

"Mariah, I don't know either. But do know neither of us have any intention of being stuck in this castle with Galbatorix longer than we have to be… and now both of us are Riders…"

"Are you simply saying that it's convenient?"

"No… I'm just saying… that you're here with me and I enjoy being in your company, more so than anyone else. If you don't want me so close, then we can both be done with it right now."

She looked at him for a moment, and then shifted her gaze to their hands, interlocked softly. When she hesitated, he leaned forward and kissed her gently on her lips. Murtagh met no resistance and smiled slightly, pulling away again, "…Mariah?"

Who knew how long she was going to be stuck in here? If she ever saw her brother or Eragon again, it would be a miracle. She was trapped with Galbatorix and having Murtagh to hold onto through it all sounded like a better way to handle it than alone and crying all the time. She smiled slightly back and squeezed his hand, "I'm sorry I stabbed you earlier…"

He let out a chuckle, "It's alright."

She nodded slightly to him.

"I'm quite tired from that fight… so I think I'm going to turn in for the night. Besides, Galbatorix wants me to see him in the morning." Murtagh said to her.

"Right. You should rest."

He stood and pulled Mariah to her feet, hugging her. "I'll see you in the morning Mariah."

She blinked at the hug as her cheek pressed against his shoulder, hands against his chest. As he let go, she smiled slightly. "Good night Murtagh." She said, watching him walk out of her room. Mariah waited for the door to close before slipping onto her bed, hugging her pillow.

_My darling, are you alright?_

_Yes Andrar, I'm fine…_ she insisted, curling up and going to sleep.

Having slept quite restlessly, Murtagh woke early the next morning. Dressing and pulling on his boots before the sun was even up. He paused in the hallway and listened hard, wondering if Mariah was awake yet. Thorn nudged his hand as it moved toward the door and snorted. "Alright." He muttered, turning and walking down the hall toward the throne room.

"Ah, good morning Murtagh." Galbatorix grinned at him, lacing his fingers together, standing up from his throne. Shruiken was lounging in a corner, eyeing up Thorn with a large glassy eye.

Murtagh swallowed hard, a shiver running down his spine. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes. Your performance yesterday was lacking to say the least, and I believe this to be a fault of your Dragon Rider abilities being so new. You're not used to them and they're definitely not as powerful as Mariah or Kieran's. So, I've come to the conclusion you'll be better matched if we increase your abilities."

"Isn't that going to happen over time…?" Murtagh asked, furrowing his brow.

"Time is one thing I do not have. The Varden is getting anxious and I plan on attacking them soon. However, you are unfit to fight if you can lose so easily to the girls. I would expect you to be ashamed of yourself for losing so badly to a woman."

"Kieran and Mariah are both excellent fighters… there's no shame in losing to someone with more skill than your own."

Galbatorix shook his head, "Then you've learned nothing. Don't lose, that's what you should be thinking. It's always shameful to lose, realize that now. Winning is the only way to prove yourself."

Murtagh set his jaw, staring back at the king.

"As I was saying, time is of the essence." He stepped down and toward them, reaching out to Thorn. The dragon cringed and hissed slightly, scurrying to Murtagh's other side, pressing his head up against his hand. "Your growth must be supplemented with magic if you're to be powerful enough to lead the army's siege of Surda." Before Murtagh or Thorn could protest, he spoke loudly in the Ancient Language, leaving Thorn cringing and roaring out in pain.

* * *

Eragon had been in Du Weldenvarden for so long that he had begun to long for clearings, fields, or even a mountain, instead of the endless tree trunks and meager underbrush. His flight with Saphira provided no respite as they only revealed hills of prickly green that rolled unbroken into the distance like a verdant sea.

Oftentimes, the branches were so thick overhead, it was impossible to tell from what direction the sun rose and set. That, combined with the repetitive scenery, made Eragon hopelessly lost, no matter how many times Arya of Lifaen troubled to show him the points of the compass. If not for the elves, he knew that he could wander in Du Weldenvarden for the rest of his life without ever finding his way free.

When it rained, the clouds and the forest canopy plunged them into profound darkness, as if they were entombed deep underground. The falling water would collect on the black pine needles above, then trickle through and pour a hundred feet or more down onto their heads, like a thousand little waterfalls. At such times, Arya would summon a glowing orb of green magic that floated over her right hand a provided the only light in the cavernous forest. They would stop and huddle underneath a tree until the storm abated, but even then water cashed in the myriad branches would, at the slightest provocation, shower them with droplets for hours afterward.

As they rode deeper into the heart of Du Weldenvarden, the trees grew thicker and taller, as well as father apart to accommodate the increased span of their branches. The trunks – bare brown shafts that towered up into the overarching ribbed ceiling, which was smudged and obscured by shadow – were over two hundred feet tall, higher than any tree in the Spine or the Beors. Eragon paced out the girth of one tree and measured it at seventy feet.

He mentioned this to Arya, and she nodded, saying, "It means that we are near Ellesméra." She reached out and rested her hand lightly on the gnarled root beside her, as if touching, with consummate delicacy, the shoulder of a friend or lover. "These trees are among the oldest living creatures in Alagaësia. Elves have loved them since first we saw Du Weldenvarden, and we have done everything within our power to help them flourish." A fain blade of light pierced the dusty emerald branches overhead and limned her arm and face with liquid gold, dazzlingly bright against the murky background. "We have traveled far together, Eragon, but now you are about to enter my world. Tread softly, for the earth and air are heavy with memories and naught is as it seems… Do not fly with Saphira today, as we have already triggered certain wards that protect Ellesméra. It would be unwise to stray from the path."

Eragon bowed his head and retreated to Saphira, who lay curled on a bed of moss, amusing herself by releasing plumes of smoke from her nostrils and watching them roil out of sight. Without preamble, she said, _There is plenty of room for me on the ground now. I will have no difficulty._

_Good._ He mounted Snowfire and followed Orik and the elves farther into the empty, silent forest. Saphira crawled beside him. She and the white horses gleamed in the somber half light.

Eragon paused, overcome by the solemn beauty of his surroundings. Everything had a feeling of wintery age, as if nothing had changed under the thatched needles for a thousand years and nothing ever would; time itself seemed to have fallen into a slumber from which it would never wake.

In late afternoon, the gloom lifted to reveal an elf standing before them, sheathed in a brilliant ray of light that slanted down from the ceiling. He was garbed in flowing robes, with a circlet of silver upon his brow. His face was old, noble, and serene.

"Eragon," murmured Arya. "Show him your palm and your ring."

Baring his right hand, Eragon raised it so that first Brom's ring and then the gedwey ignasia was visible. The elf smiled, closed his eyes, and spread his arms in a gesture of welcome. He held the posture.

"The way is clear," said Arya. At a soft command, her steed moved forward. They rode around the elf – like water parting at the base of a weathered boulder – and when they had all passed, he straightened, clasped his hands, and vanished as the light that illuminated him ceased to exist.

_Who is he? _asked Saphira.

Arya said, "He is Gilderien the Wise, Prince of House Miolandra, wielder of the White Flame of Vandil, and guardian of Ellesméra since the days of Du Fyrn Skulblaka, our war with the dragons. None may enter the city unless he permits it."

A quarter of a mile beyond, the forest thinned and breaks appeared within the canopy, allowing planks of mottled sunlight to bar the way. Then they passed underneath two burled trees that leaned against each other and stopped at the edge of an empty glade.

The ground was strewn with dense patches of flowers. From pink roses to bluebells and lilies, spring's fleeting treasure was heaped about like piles of rubies, sapphires, and opals. Their intoxicating aromas attracted hordes of bumblebees. To the right, a stream chuckled behind a row of bushes, while a pair of squirrels chased each other around a rock.

At first it looked to Eragon like a place where deer might bed for the night. But as he continued to stare, he began to pick out paths hidden among the brush and trees; soft warm light where normally there would be auburn shadows; an odd pattern in the shapes of the twigs and branches and flowers, so subtle that it nearly escaped detection – clues that what he saw was not entirely natural. He blinked, and his vision suddenly shifted as if a lens had been placed over his eyes, resolving everything into recognizable shapes. Those were paths, aye. And those were flowers, aye. But what he had taken to be clusters of lumpy, twisted trees were in fact graceful buildings that grew directly out of the pines.

One tree bulged at the base to form a two-story house before sinking its roots into the loam. Both stories were hexagonal, although the upper level was half as small as the first, which gave the house a tiered appearance. The roofs and walls were made of webbed sheets of wood draped over six thick ridges. Moss and yellow lichen bearded the eaves and hung over jeweled windows set into each side. The front door was a mysterious black silhouette recessed under an archway wrought with symbols.

Another house was nestled between three pines, which were joined to it through a series of curved branches. Reinforced by those flying buttresses, the house rose five levels, light and airy. Beside it sat a bower woven out of willow and dogwood and hung with flameless lanterns disguised as galls.

Each unique building enhanced and complemented its surroundings, blending seamlessly with the rest of the forest until it was impossible to tell where artifice ended and nature resumed. The two were in perfect balance. Instead of mastering their environment, the elves had chosen to accept the world as it was and adapt themselves to it.

The inhabitants of Ellesméra eventually revealed themselves as a flicker of movement at the fringe of Eragon's sight, no more than needles stirring in the breeze. Then he caught glimpses of hands, a pale face, a sandaled foot, and upraised arm. One by one, the wary elves stepped into view, their almond eyes fixed upon Saphira, Arya, and Eragon.

The women wore their hair unbound. It ripples down their backs in waves of silver and sable braided with fresh blossoms, like a garden waterfall. They all possessed a delicate, ethereal beauty that belied their unbreakable strength; to Eragon, they seemed flawless. The men were just as striking, with high cheekbones, finely sculpted noses, and heavy eyelids. Both sexes were garbed in rustic tunics of green and brown, fringed with dusky colors of orange, russet, and gold.

_The Fair Folk indeed, _thought Eragon. He touched his lips in greeting.

As one, the elves bowed from the waist. Then they smiled and laughed with unrestrained happiness. From within their midst, a woman sang:

_Gala O Wyrda brunhvitr,_

_Abr Berundal vandr-fodhr,_

_Burthro laufsbladadr ekar undir,_

_Eom kona dauthleikr…_

Eragon clasped his hands over his ears, fearing that the melody was a spell like the one he had herd in Silthrim, but Arya shook her head and lifted his hands. "It's not magic." Then she spoke to her horse, saying, "Ganga." The stallion nickered and trotted away. "Release your steeds as well. We have no further need for them and they deserve to rest in our stables."

The song waxed stronger as Arya proceeded along a cobblestone path set with bits of green tourmaline, which looped among the hollyhocks and the houses and the trees before finally crossing a stream. The elves danced around their party as they walked, flitting here and there as the fancy struck them, laughing, and occasionally leaping up onto a branch to run over their heads. They praised Saphira with names like "Longclaws" and "Daughter of Air and Fire" and "Strong One."

Eragon smiled, delighted and enchanted. _I could live here, _he thought with a sense of peace. Tucked away in Du Weldenvarden, as much outdoors as in, safe from the rest of the world… Yes, he liked Ellesméra very much indeed, more than any of the dwarf cities. He pointed to a dwelling situated within a pine tree and asked Arya, "How it that done?"

"We sing to the forest in the old tongue and give it our strength to grow in the shape we desire. All our buildings and tools are made in that manner."

The path ended at a net of roots that formed steps, like bare pools of earth. They climbed to a door embedded within a wall of saplings. Eragon's heart quickened as the door swung open, seemingly of its own accord, and revealed a hall of trees. Hundreds of branches melded together to form the honeycombed ceiling. Below, twelve chairs were arrayed along each wall.

In them reposed four-and-twenty elf lords and ladies.

Wise and handsome were they, with smooth faces unmarked by age and keen eyes that gleamed with excitement. They leaned forward, gripping the arms of their chairs, and stared at Eragon's group with open wonder and hope. Unlike the other elves, they had swords belted at their waists – hilts studded with berlys and garnets – and circlets that adorned their brows.

And at the head of the assembly stood a white pavilion that sheltered a throne of knotted roots. Queen Islanzadí sat upon it. She was as beautiful as an autumn sunset, proud and imperious, with two dark eyebrows slanted like upraised wings, lips as bright and red as holly berries, and midnight hair bound under a diamond diadem. Her tunic was crimson. Round her hips hung a girdle of braided gold. And clasped at the hollow of her neck was a velvet cloak that fell to the ground in languid folds. Despite her imposing countenance, the queen seemed fragile, as if she concealed a great pain.

By her left hand was a curved rod with a chased crosspiece. A brilliant-white raven perched on it, shuffling impatiently from foot to foot. He cocked his head and surveyed Eragon with uncanny intelligence, then gave a long low croak and shrieked, "_Wydra!_" Eragon shivered from the force of that single cracked word.

The door closed behind the six of them as they entered the hall and approached the queen. Arya knelt on the moss-covered ground and bowed first, then Eragon, Orik, Lifaen, and Nari. Even Saphira, who had never bowed to anyone, not even Ajihad or Hrothgar, lowered her head.

Islanzadí stood and descended from the throne, her cloak trailing behind her. She stopped before Arya, placed trembling hands on her shoulders, and said in a rich vibrato, "Rise." Arya did, and the queen scrutinized her face with increasing intensity, until it seemed as if she were trying to decipher an obscure text.

At last Islanzadí cried out and embraced Arya, saying, "O my daughter, I have wronged you!"

* * *

"Is this going to be a recurring thing with you?" Mark asked, folding his arms, leaning against the wall of an abandoned room in the castle of King Orrin.

"Only when we need to talk," Rowan said, flicking his dark hair out of his eyes. "When she requests it."

"Well, what is it this time?" He sighed. After the first occurrence had startled him, these little meetings had been practically once a week. One of them would sneak up, pull him into a dark room and talk with him in order to squeeze out any information they may not have been able to acquire on their own. It was beginning to get on his nerves.

Rowan rolled his eyes at him, "You should be grateful, you know, she could have killed you if she wanted to."

"Same to her. She underestimates me, all of you do. Now what do you want, I'm quite busy today."

"She wants to you accompany her on her next mission." He said.

Mark blinked, staring at him, "She's finally snapped then." He nodded, "Why does she want me to go along?"

He shrugged, "No idea, but you need to be ready to go by sundown."

"Could she give me less time?" He mumbled under his breath and glanced toward the window, realizing the sun was already setting. "Fine. Where does she want to meet?"

"Just outside the tavern around the corner. Make sure you're on time, she doesn't appreciate it when people are late." Rowan told him, sweeping out of the room.

Mark huffed and stalked back to his room, collecting his bag and throwing some essentials inside it before rushing down to the stables to get his she-horse. Naturally, he ran headlong into Nasuada on his way down. "Ah… good evening M'lady."

She blinked at him once, slightly startled. "…where is it you keep running off to Marcus? We've not had a proper conversation in days…"

"Ah… it's nothing."

Her eyebrows lifted, "I do hope you mean that in a polite manner, however I do not appreciate being lied to." She settled into her position, shifting her weight onto one leg, leaving him to realize that she wasn't about to walk away without a proper explanation. "Now, what seems to have your attention so ardently? If you're getting into trouble here, I'll not stand for it."

"No, no," he said quickly, "Nothing like that. I would never, you should know that Nasuada."

"Then it's a lady, for I cannot think of another reason for you to rush off so often?"

He allowed himself to blush, not out of embarrassment, but at having been caught. And if anything, her guess would make a good cover. "Well…" he cleared his throat, "I do apologize for running off so suddenly all the time M'lady."

"You should have simply told me. Please, don't hide secrets from me, I have the utmost respect for you Marcus, don't make me lose that." Nasuada told him, "Now I suggest you get going, I wouldn't want you to keep her waiting."

Mark waited until she was around the corner, biting his tongue to choke back a laugh before continuing down to the stables. "I've been corrupted… goodness." Finally, he saw Aluora and quickly snatched up her saddle, securing it around her. He muttered under his breath all the while, "It should be illegal to lie so easily to someone."

"If you find your lies are easy, they're either not believable or you've become excellent at the craft of deception."

He swiveled on his heel and blinked at Kendra. "I've had many years of practice."

"Good. I like people who are good at what they do. Which is why you're coming with me tonight. I need to know how well you perform under pressure and what you're capable of." She walked back out, climbing onto her chestnut mare and waited for him. Aluora trotted out, carrying him. "We're going to ride hard, are you sure your little filly is up for the ride?"

Mark chuckled, "Don't insult my horse Kendra, she's far more than a match for your pony."

She clicked her tongue and the mare trotted from the stables and toward the outskirts of town. Once they were beyond the castle guard, Mark whistled sharply and Aluora shot off at a full gallop. Kendra blinked, laying low and digging her heels into her mare, catching up after a few strides.

After several miles they diverged from the road into the forest to avoid passersby, slowing the she-horses to reserve their strength. Mark sat up straighter in his saddle and looked over at Kendra. "So, where are we headed?"

"A small town near the edge of Surda. The empire constantly sends more spies in to collect information and I take it upon myself to kill them and strip them of their information before they can get back to Galbatorix. Yes, Surda and the Varden both have their own network of spies; however they're quite incapable of dealing with certain members of Galbatorix's army."

"And how do you collect information on where the spies are located?"

"What do you think Rowan does with all his spare time?" She asked him, raising an eyebrow. "He doesn't lounge about the castle, talking pleasantries with all the lords and ladies for nothing. By making friends, he's allowed access into places where most of us can't even sneak into… easily that is. This way, none of us are put in danger and we have positive contacts and information as opposed to lies written down on paper so there's no evidence. Plus, you wouldn't believe the things nobles will let slip when they believe they're in good company."

Mark smirked a little, "Actually, I do know. And are you going to tell me why you decided to bring me along this time?"

"Sure." She said, "Now that you're quite stuck out here with me." Kendra paused, "I need to know what you're capable of. If you can't handle killing someone in cold blood then I don't want anything to do with you. I don't want to wait until we're in that situation, with no way out, having to rely on you, only to find out you don't have enough nerve to kill a woman with a knife at my throat."

"You're worrying about the wrong person," he assured her. "But if you insist on running this little test, then so be it. It got me out of the castle at least."

She glanced at him, "You seem like the type of person who would like being stuck in there all the time."

"I seem like it, yes, on the outside. But I can stand there all day pretending to listen to the lords' conversations while I'm determining what the best way to kill them would be. Calculating exactly how much trouble I'd be in for killing him, what the consequences would be. Don't get me wrong, there are some of them I enjoy talking with immensely, however, there are those whom the world would be better off without."

"You've my full agreement." She said. "But now I'm going to ask you to be quiet, I don't like much noise when I ride."

"Can I ask why?"

"I need to listen. If you're talking I can't hear if anyone's about to kill me or not."

Mark smiled a bit at her and looked forward, in full agreement with her. Crazy as she might be, he realized that they agreed most of the time. Riding in silence with her the thought crossed his mind if he wasn't just as insane as her.

* * *

Bleh filler… so much filler with Eragon… and does anyone else feel like Paolini took a leaf out of Lothlorien for his elves? No? Huh… maybe it's just me then…

BUT HEY! Mariah and Murtagh… anyone gonna jump onboard?

Are you liking Kendra?

And again, I'm going to apologize for my long absence, I've been extremely busy and fell ill through exhaustion and stress, it was not pretty… chapter is slightly unedited as I'm posting it the moment I've finished writing it. I'll go back later and update, adding all the little accent marks above letters that need be there. If I remember...

With Love, As Always,

Mariah


	13. Ch 53: Ellesméra

**Chapter Fifty-Three: Ellesméra**

Eragon knelt before the queen of the elves and her councilor in a fantastic room made from the boles of living trees in a near-mythic land, and the only thing that filled his mind was shock. _Arya is a princess!_ It was fitting in a way – she had always possessed an air of command – but he bitterly regretted the fact, for it placed another barrier between them when he would have torn them all away. The knowledge filled his mouth with the taste of ashes. He remembered Angela's prophecy that he would love of noble birth… and her warning that she could not see if it would end for good or for ill.

He could feel Saphira's own surprise, then her amusement. She said, _It appears that we have been traveling in the presence of royalty without knowing it._

_Why didn't she tell us?_

_Perhaps it would have placed her in greater danger._

"Islanzadí Dröttning," said Arya formally.

The queen withdrew as if she had been stung and then repeated in the ancient language, "O my daughter, I have wronged you." She covered her face. "Ever since you disappeared, I've barely slept or eaten. I was haunted by your fate, and feared that I would never see you again. Banning you from my presence was the greatest mistake I have ever made… Can you forgive me?"

The gathered elves stirred with amazement.

Arya's response was long in coming, but at least she said, "For seventy years, I have lived and loved, fought and killed without ever speaking to you, my mother. Our lives are long, but even so, that is no small span."

Islanzadí drew herself upright, lifting her chin. A tremor ran her length. "I cannot undo the past, Arya, no matter how much I might desire to."

"And I cannot forget what I endured."

"Nor should you." Islanzadí clasped her daughter's hands. "Arya, I love you. You are my only family. Go if you must, but unless you wish to renounce me, I would be reconciled with you."

For a terrible moment, it seemed as if Arya would not answer, or worse, would reject the offer. Eragon saw her hesitate and quickly look at her audience. Then she lowered her eyes and said, "No, Mother. I could not leave." Islanzadí smiled uncertainly and embraced her daughter again. This time Arya returned the gesture, and smiled broke out among the assembled elves.

The white raven hopped on his stand, cackling, "And on the door was graven evermore, what now became the family lore, _Let us never do but to adore!_"

"Hush, Blagden," said Islanzadí to the raven. Keep you doggerel to yourself." Breaking free, the queen turned to Eragon and Saphira. "You must excuse me for being discourteous and ignoring you, our most important guests."

Eragon touched his lips and then twisted his right hand over his sternum, as Arya had taught him. "Islanzadí Dröttning. Atra esterní ono thelduin." He had no doubt that he was supposed to speak first.

Islanzadí's dark eyes widened. "Atra du evarínya ono varda."

"Un atra mo'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr," replied Eragon, completing the ritual. He could tell that the elves were caught off guard by his knowledge of their customs. In his mind, he listened as Saphira repeated his greeting to the queen.

When she finished, Islanzadí asked, "Dragon, what is your name?"

_Saphira._

A flash of recognition appeared in the queen's expression, but she made no comment on it. Welcome to Ellesméra, Saphira. And yours, Rider?"

"Eragon Shadeslayer, Your Majesty." This time an audible stir rippled among the elves seated behind them; even Islanzadí appeared startled.

"You carry a powerful name," she said softly, "one that we rarely bestow upon our children… Welcome to Ellesméra, Eragon Shadeslayer. We have waited long for you." She moved on to Orik, greeted him, then returned to her throne and draped her velvet cloak over her arm. "I assume by your presence here, Eragon, so soon after Saphira's egg was captured, and by the ring on your hand and the sword on your hop, that Brom is dead and that your training with him was incomplete. I wish to hear your full story, including how Brom fell and how you came to meet my daughter, or how she met you, as it may be. Then I will hear of your mission here, dwarf, and of your adventures, Arya, since your ambush in Du Weldenvarden."

Eragon had narrated his experiences before, so he had no trouble reiterating them now for the queen. He only stumbled when he had to mention Mariah and Andrar and Murtagh, their names and the memories that went with them difficult to let roll from his tongue. On occasion, Saphira was able to provide an accurate description of events. In several places, he simply left the telling to her. Islanzadí didn't look surprised in the least when he mentioned Andrar's name, confirming Ajihad's earlier suspicions that the elves had been harboring a second egg without the Varden's knowing – however her eyes betrayed her devastation upon learning both he and his Rider were gone. When they finished, Eragon retrieved Nasuada's scroll from his pack and presented it to Islanzadí.

She took the roll of parchment, broke the red wax seal, and, upon completing the missive, sighed and briefly closed her eyes. "I see now the true depth of my folly. My grief would have ended so much sooner if I had not withdrawn our warriors and ignored Ajihad's messengers after learning that Arya had been ambushed. I should have never blamed the Varden for her death. For one so old, I am still far too foolish…"

A long silence followed, as no one dared to agree or disagree. Summoning his courage, Eragon said, "Since Arya has returned alive, will you agree to help the Varden, like before? Nasuada cannot succeed otherwise, and I am pledged to her cause."

"My quarrel with the Varden is as dust in the wind," said Islanzadí. "Fear not; we will assist them as we once did, and more, because of you and their victory over the Urgals." She leaned forward on one arm. "Will you give me Brom's ring, Eragon?" Without hesitation, he pulled it off his finger and offered it to the queen, who plucked it from his palm with her slim fingers. "You should not have worn this, Eragon, as it was not meant for you. However, because of the aid you have rendered the Varden and my family, I now name you Elf Friend and bestow this ring, Aren, upon you, so that all elves, wherever you go, will know that you are to be trusted and helped."

Eragon thanked her and returned the ring to his finger, acutely aware of the queen's gaze, which remained upon him with disturbing perception, studying and analyzing. He felt as if she knew everything that he might say or do. She said, "Such tidings as yours, we have not heard the like of in Du Weldenvarden for many a year. We are accustomed to a slower way of life here than the rest of Alagaësia, and it troubles me that so much could occur so swiftly without word of it reaching my ear."

"And what of my training?" Eragon snatched a furtive glance at the seated elves, wondering if any of them could be Togira Ikonoka, the being who had reached into his mind and freed him of Durza's foul influence after the battle in Farthen Dur – and who had also encouraged Eragon to travel to Ellesméra.

"It will begin in the fullness of time. Yet I fear that instruction you is futile so long as your infirmity persists. Unless you can over-come the Shade's magic, you will be reduced to no more than a figurehead. You may still be useful, but only as a shadow of the hope that we have nurtured for over a century." Islanzadí spoke without reproach, yet her words struck Eragon like hammer blows. He knew that she was right. "Your situation is not your fault, and it pains me to voice such things, but you must understand the gravity of your disability… I am sorry."

She turned to Orik to speak with him and Eragon retreated into his own mind. This was all nearly too much to process. Coming all this way, enduring as much as he had, losing so much – nearly everything and everyone he knew was gone – and to be told he was only a shadow of the hope they had anticipated. He felt a shiver run up his back as he stood, watching Islanzadí talk with Orik, not really hearing anything as they finished and she turned to Arya. Again, it was all too much. Arya being the princess was so shocking; he was surprised at himself for not saying it aloud.

He watched her speaking with her mother and mentally slapped himself. He was hopelessly out of her league, as a sixteen-year-old farm boy from Carvahall with no lineage to speak of, even as a Dragon Rider there wasn't a chance. Despite her appeal, he concluded she was simply too different, even if there weren't so many barriers to cross over. The little he did know about elves seemed confusing and extremely formal, neither of which appealed to him. Spending time with Arya was pleasant, but he always had to be on his guard, so as to not offend her or say something stupid. Mariah never was that way; she might have scolded him about saying such things or even laughed. He'd never been worried about her being so offended by something he didn't even realize he'd been saying that she would never speak to him again. She wasn't seventy-some years older than him either. Nor was she elvish and, despite that, she was still just as pretty as Arya, even more so, since her features weren't so foreign. He felt his face burn, finally conscious of his wandering thoughts.

_I see you've finally figured it out._

_What?_

_It has been on your mind for days, if not weeks now. Tell me you've finally figure it out, hatchling._

_Oh… that,_ he glanced at Arya again. _I miss her Saphira, more than I miss anything else. And Arya… it's just not the same._

_You have much time to think everything through little one, you are still very young. Do not run to or from anything, you have enough time to walk._

* * *

Mariah heard the shrieking roar coming from inside the castle and woke with a start, flying to her door and wrenching it open, running down the hallway, regretting, as she took the stairs three at a time, not taking a moment to slip on some shoes. Her bare feet smacked against the cold stone floor as she ran headlong into Kieran; the woman grasped her around her waist and smashed her into a wall, glaring. "If you have half a mind to keep yourself alive, I suggest you don't go any farther."

The roar was still pounding in her ears, though it had ceased several moments ago. She stared up at Kieran's face, confused and concerned.

"Come on," she said, grasping her wrist and hauling her back up the stairs.

"But-"

"I said come on, it wasn't a suggestion."

They arrived back at the top of the stairs where Kieran turned to the left. Mariah looked around, realizing she'd never been in this wing of the castle before. The princess pushed open one side of a pair of intricate double wooden doors and shoved Mariah in front of her. She let out a sigh and closed the door behind them, finally letting her go.

"There. Now." Her eyes flicked back up at Mariah looked her over. "Natalie, come here." A young woman set down her water pitcher she'd been using to water flowers and stepped over. "I'm going to need you to modify one of my dresses for Mariah."

"Of course mistress, would you like it done now?"

"Yes." Kieran told her, nodding. "I'll find a dress, come back with your equipment as soon as possible." Before the young maid could so much as curtsy to the princess, she was walking off towards a tall wardrobe.

Mariah glanced at the closing door and then Kieran, yawning a bit. It was still far too early to be up; she was still in her night clothes and with bare feet. "Is it too much to ask for you to explain what's going on?"

"You're being fitted into one of my dresses."

"Yes… that much is clear," Mariah mumbled, sitting in a chair. "But I would like to know what all the screeching was earlier."

Kieran paused momentarily, as if debating whether or not to tell her, "You'll find out soon enough. Oh there you are Natalie. I think this one would work well."

Mariah looked up from her seat and blinked at the long crimson dress Kieran was holding. Her throat seized slightly and her stomach started forming knots, realizing that the princess had probably spent more on having the dress made than what it would cost to feed all of Carvahall for two years. The beading alone must have taken hundreds of hours of work.

"Well don't just sit there, come on, we haven't got all day." Kieran snapped up her wrist again and pulled her to stand up on a small stool. Natalie helped her step into the dress after she had discarded her night clothes.

"What is this for again?" She asked, realizing the dress fit rather well, it was simply too long and her chest didn't quite fill up the corset like Kieran could. "Or is this simply a new form of torture?"

Kieran rolled her eyes, folding her arms. "Father told me to have you fitted for a dress." She told her simply, walking out of the room, leaving her there with the maid.

Mariah sighed, puffing out her annoyance and looked around the room. Now that she wasn't being dragged anywhere, she could see all the details and decorations. There were windows facing east, allowing for the morning sunrise to come streaming into the room, nearly blinding her. Kieran's room was heavily decorated, even more so than her own, with expensive fabrics and jeweled items scattered about the room. Miscellaneous treasures she was certain had been obtained illegally in some way or another from a long forgotten age. A stunning jeweled sword was mounted above a crackling fireplace. Shelves filled with ornate decorations, such as a model ship, small mirrors and paintings. On a wall filled with pictures, there was one a little more detailed than the others. In the frame were two girls, identical, both smiling as they held onto each other. Maybe Kieran still had a shred of compassion in her body.

"How stupid are they, honestly? They can't even keep it straight!"

She rolled her eyes, looking over at the princess, "What is it now?"

"I am allergic to blueberries, they can't even remember that I'm allergic to most fruits that end in 'berry' and for safety's sake they should stop trying to give me food with berries in it all together!"

"Your highness, remember to breathe," Natalie mumbled through her lips, pursed with needles. She pulled one out and pinned Mariah's skirt once more.

She stormed off over to her bookshelf, pulling down a thin volume and slumping in a chair to wait while Mariah was being fitted for her dress. When Natalie finished pinning it, she found a tall mirror and set it in front of Mariah so that she could see what it looked like on. The Rider blinked and flushed red, turning a bit on the stool to look at the dress in its entirety. "I… I don't think I've ever looked so… ridiculous in my entire life – Kieran why do I have to wear this?"

"Because father said so. You have to do what he says. And I told you to, and you have to do what I say. And Murtagh will get to see you wearing it, and that should be a good enough reason for any woman to wear a dress." She looked up from her book. "If you squeak and tell me I'm wrong, I'll know I'm right."

Mariah blinked at her and said nothing.

"Also, if you say nothing, I'll know I'm right. So, I'm right. You can stop hiding it whenever you want." She set the book down and looked the dress over. "It seems to fit better now, yes. Go ahead and sew it in place then Natalie. Thank you."

"Of course mistress."

"I'm stuck up here, aren't I?" Mariah asked, glaring down at Kieran, who simply shrugged and smirked. "You know – you don't have to always stick your nose into my business."

Kieran let out a laugh, "Of course I do."

"Fine, since I'm going to be stuck here a while, who's that in that picture over there?" She pointed, much to Natalie's annoyance. The maid simply waited for her to stop moving before continuing.

The princess froze a little and glanced at the picture. "Me… and my sister, Kendra."

"I thought you hated her."

"I do hate her." Kieran confirmed.

"Then why keep the picture?"

"Because I didn't used to hate her. Not when she was my sister." She flicked her eyes up at Mariah and sighed. "Before she grew up, before she started hating our father so fiercely, I loved her. Gradually, as time passed, she resented me, and I her." A small snarl was forming on her lips. "When Nasreen hatched for me, she stopped speaking to me, hated me for becoming something she wished never existed. She blames Riders for this war, for our father, for our mother's death. Everything that has ever gone wrong in the world she blames on Dragon Riders. You would hate her too if you knew anything about her. And if she ever caught sight of you, she would kill you. If I wasn't her sister, she probably would have killed me before she ran off, but I don't think she could bring herself to doing it."

Mariah was only vaguely aware of Natalie sewing up the hem of her dress as Kieran spoke. Hating your sibling so fiercely that you wanted to kill them? It was said jokingly on occasion with Mark, but actually wanting to commit murder, to destroy someone you held so dear in your heart because they became something you loathe.

"I hope she is dead, because that way I won't ever have to kill her." Kieran said. "If she came after me and tried to annihilate me, or Nasreen, I… I would want to kill her first. Whether I could or not remains to be seen."

"How do you know she would do something like that?"

"Because when Nasreen hatched for me, she told me so. When we were fifteen and Nasreen hatched, my twin sister told me that she wanted me dead. She told me that Dragon Riders are despicable creatures, neither human, nor elf – immortal creatures with unnatural magical powers, something that never should have been created by the gods. My sister hasn't spoken to me since we were fifteen. It's been nearly three years, and now I hope she's dead, so I won't ever have to kill her myself."

"Mistress Kieran, I've finished." Natalie said quietly, standing up.

Kieran got to her feet, walking around Mariah, "It looks good, thank you Natalie. You're free to go now." The maid curtseyed and left the room. "The dress suits you Mariah, make sure you take care of it. I don't plan on giving you another any time soon."

Mariah looked herself over in the mirror, turning a bit to see how low the back dipped down, watching the beads shimmer as she turned in the morning sunlight. The deep crimson brought out her pale skin under her now nearly shoulder-length ebony hair. She tugged slightly on the long bell-cuffed sleeves, looking at the picture on the wall again before stepping down and heading out of Kieran's room.

* * *

He straightened a little more when the queen spoke, her voice ringing like a bell among the trees. "Our guests wait tired on their feet, and we have spoken of evil things for far too long. I will not have this occasion marred by lingering on past injuries." A glorious smile brightened her expression. "My daughter has returned, a dragon and her Rider have appeared, and I will see us celebrate in the proper fashion!" She stood tall and magnificent in her crimson tunic, and clapped her hands. At the sound, the chairs and pavilion were showered with hundreds of lilies and roses that appeared twenty feet above their heads and drifted down like colorful snowflakes, suffusing the air with their heady fragrance.

_She didn't use the ancient language, _observed Eragon.

He noticed that, while everyone was occupied by the flowers, Islanzadí touched Arya gently on the shoulder and murmured, almost too softly to hear, "You never would have suffered so if you had taken my counsel. I was right to oppose your decision to accept the yawë."

"It was my decision to make."

The queen paused, then nodded and extended her arm. "Blagden." With a flutter of wings, the raven flew from his perch and landed on her left shoulders. The entire assembly bowed as Islanzadí proceeded to the end of the hall and threw open the door to the hundreds of elves outside, whereupon she made brief declaration in the ancient language that Eragon did not understand. The elves burst into cheers and began to rush about.

"What did she say?" whispered Eragon to Nari.

Nari smiled. "To break open our finest casks and light the cook-fires, for tonight shall be a night of feast and song. Come!" He grabbed Eragon's hand and pulled him after the queen as she threaded her way between the shaggy pines and through banks of cool ferns. During their time indoors, the sun had dropped low in the sky, drenching the forest with an amber light that clung to the trees and plants like a layer of glistering oil.

_You do realize, don't you, _said Saphira, _that the king Lifaen mentioned, Evandar, must be Arya's father?_

Eragon almost stumbled. _You're right… and that means he was killed by either Galbatorix or the Forsworn._

_Circles within circles._

They stopped on the crest of a small hill, where a team of elves had set out a long trestle table and chairs. All around them, the forest hummed with activity. As evening approached, the cheery glow of fires appeared scattered throughout Ellesméra, including a bonfire near the table.

Someone handed Eragon a goblet made of the same odd wood that he had noticed in Ceris. He drank the cup's clear liqueur and gasped as it blazed down his throat. It tasted like mulled cider mixed with mead. The potion made the tips of his fingers and ears tingle and gave him a marvelous sense of clarity. "What is this?" he asked Nari.

Nari laughed. "Faelnirv? We distill it from crushed elderberries and spun moonbeams. If he needs must, a strong man can travel for three days on naught else."

_Saphira, you have to taste this. _She sniffed the goblet, then opened her mouth and allowed him to pour the rest of the faelnirv down her throat. Her eyes widened and her tail twitched.

_Now that's a treat! Is there more?_

Before Eragon could reply, Orik stomped over to them. "Daughter to the queen," he grumbled, shaking his head. "I wish that I could tell Hrothgar and Nasuada. They'd want to know."

Islanzadi seated herself in a high-backed chair and clapped her hands once again. From within the city came a quartet of elves bearing musical instruments. Two had harps of cherrywood, the third a set of reed pipes, and the fourth nothing but her voice, which she immediately put to use with a playful song that danced about their ears.

Eragon caught only every third word or so, but what he did understand made him grin. It was the story of a stag who could not drink at a pond because a magpie kept harassing him.

As Eragon listened, his gaze wandered and alighted upon a small girl prowling behind the queen. When he looked again, he saw that her shaggy hair was not silver, like many of the elves, but bleached white with age, and that her face was creased and line like a dry, withered apple. She was no elf, no dwarf, nor – Eragon felt – even human. She smiled at him, and he glimpsed rows of sharp teeth.

When the singer finished, and the pipes and lutes filled the silence, Eragon found himself approached by scores of elves who wished to meet him and – more importantly, he sensed – Saphira.

The elves presented themselves by bowing softly and touching their lips with their first and middle fingers, to which Eragon responded in kind, along with endless repetitions of their greeting in the ancient language. They plied Eragon with polite questions about his exploits, but they reserved the bulk of their conversation for Saphira.

At first Eragon was content to let Saphira talk, since this was the first place where anyone was interested in having a discussion just with her. But he soon grew annoyed at being ignored; he had become used to having people listen when he spoke. He grinned ruefully, dismayed that he had come to rely on people's attention so much since he had joined the Varden, and forced himself to relax and enjoy the celebration.

Before long the scent of food permeated the glade and elves appeared, carrying platters piled with delicacies. Aside from loaves of warm bread and stacks of small, round honeycakes, the dishes were made entirely of fruit, vegetables, and berries. The berries predominated; they were in everything from blueberry soup to raspberry sauce and sprinkled with wild strawberries sat beside a mushroom pie stuffed with spinach, thyme, and currants.

No meat was to be found, not even fish or fowl, which still puzzled Eragon. In Carvahall and elsewhere in the Empire, meat was a symbol of status and luxury. The more gold you had, the more often you could afford steak and veal. Even the minor nobility ate meat with every meal. To do otherwise would indicate a deficit in their coffers. And yet the elves did not subscribe to this philosophy, despite their obvious wealth and the ease with which they could hunt with magic.

The elves rushed to the table with an enthusiasm that surprised Eragon. Soon all were seated: Islanzadí at the head of the table with Blagden, the raven; Däthedr, Islanzadí's advisor, to her left; Arya and Eragon by her right hand; Orik across from them; and then all the rest of the elves, including Nari and Lifaen. No chair was at the far end of the table, only a huge carved plate for Saphira.

As the meal progressed, everything dissolved around Eragon into a blur of talk and mirth. He was so caught up in the festivities, he lost track of time, aware of only the laughter and the foreign words swirling over his head and the warm glow left in his stomach by the faelnirv. The elusive harp music sighed and whispered at the edges of his hearing and sent shivers of excitement down his side. Occasionally, he found himself distracted by the lazy slit-eyed stare of the woman-child, which she kept focused on him with single-minded intensity, even when eating.

During a lull in the conversation, Eragon turned toward Arya, who had uttered no more than a dozen words. He said nothing, only looked and wondered who she really was.

Arya stirred. "Not even Ajihad knew."

"What?"

"Outside of Du Weldenvarden, I told no one of my identity. Brom was aware of it – he first met me here – but he kept it a secret at my request. Aside from Marcus… who said he was informed of my identity and described my appearance and told my name… in the event of his death."

"Mark knew?" Eragon blinked, staring at her for a moment. When she said nothing he simply sat there, wondering if she was explaining to him out of a sense of duty or because she felt guilty for deceiving him and Saphira. "Brom once said that what elves _didn't_ say was often more important than what they did."

"He understood us well."

"Why, though? Did it matter if anyone knew?"

This time Arya hesitated. "When I left Ellesméra, I had no desire to be reminded of my position. Nor did it seem relevant to my task with the Varden and dwarves. It had nothing to do with who I became… with who I am." She glanced at the queen.

"You could have told Saphira and me."

Arya seemed to bridle at the reproach in his voice. "I had no reason to suspect that my standing with Islanzadí had improved, and telling you that would have changed nothing. My thoughts are my own, Eragon." He flushed at her implied meaning: Why should _she_ – who was a diplomat, a princess, an elf, and older than both his father and grandfather, whoever they were – confide in him, a sixteen-year-old human? At least she confirmed his earlier thoughts.

"At least," he muttered, "you made up with your mother."

She smiled oddly. "Did I have a choice?"

* * *

By now all the commotion from the main hall had ceased completely. Mariah wandered down the stairs, aware of her cold feet, and silently opened the door to Galbatorix's throne room. Shruiken was the first thing anyone would have seen, his massive size dominating most of the room. But then there was the king, whose aura was simply so strong that he drew attention on himself. Kneeling before him was Murtagh, slowly stroking Thorn's snout, his face contorted in pain.

She stared, her lips parted in shock. The red dragon splayed across the floor was at least three times the size he had been yesterday. His wings were curled up at his sides, tail flickering slightly ever so often as his breath came out in labored heaves. Walking toward them, she was stopped by Shruiken's growling and Galbatorix turning to face her.

"I see Kieran's found you a proper dress. Good." He said.

"What did you do to him?" She asked quietly. It had taken Andrar several long months for him to grow to such a size, the change hadn't occurred overnight.

He blinked and looked back at Thorn, "I sped up his growth. Small, weak, frail dragons are pitiful. My plan is to attack the Varden, not have them laugh when my Riders appear to destroy them." Galbatorix turned and strode back to his throne, sitting down with a sweep of his cape.

Mariah moved over and knelt down next to Murtagh, who had yet to look at her. She stroked her fingers across Thorn's snout a few times before placing her hand over his lightly. _Are you alright?_ She glanced over at his face carefully.

_I'm… fine. Thorn though… I can't… his mind is muddied and twisted from what Galbatorix did to him. I-I don't know what to do._

_Thorn will be fine… I'm sure of it._ She said gently, looking up at Galbatorix again. "Dragons are powerful magical creatures in their own right; tampering with them in any way is downright despicable. They shouldn't be forced to hatch, or grow. Their race is older than ours, what place do humans have trying to force something that shouldn't be?"

"Dragons are tools for their Riders to use, like a sword, they do our bidding. Without a strong enough blade, you will surely lose."

Mariah set her jaw, "So it's about losing then? Being more powerful than your opponent isn't the only factor. If you're not clever enough to beat them, you'll lose as well. In my opinion, those more powerful than others tend to overestimate their abilities and end up losing more often."

"That may very well be your opinion, Mariah, however I believe otherwise. While you are here, you would do well to hold your tongue and forget your own beliefs and opinions, they will not help you here." With that, he stood and walked from the room.

She sat there for a while before she bothered moving, doing so only to look at Murtagh. "Let's get you out of here-"

"No, I want to stay with Thorn." He insisted.

"Murtagh, there's nothing you can do but wait. And the wait will seem longer if you sit here and stare at him, now please." She stood and brushed out her skirts, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go."

He let out a heavy sigh and looked up at her finally, standing slowly and letting her lead them out of the room. Going up the stairs, she said nothing, grabbing fistfuls of her skirts and pulling them up as she ascended, so as to not trip and fall. She let the silence linger, not wanting to force him into talking if he didn't feel up to it quiet yet. Mariah knew how important her own dragon was to her, and felt Murtagh had every right to be so upset. Finally they reached their rooms and she paused, glancing at him. He moved past her into her room and fell into a chair.

Mariah sighed and followed after him, splaying her skirts as she sat on the rug before him. "I'm sorry-"

"You have nothing to apologize for." He insisted, rubbing his eyes.

"I'm sorry regardless… I would probably be crying right now in your position." She twisted a piece of fabric around her fingers from her dress and sighed again. "Do you know what Galbatorix is planning?"

"What?"

She motioned to the dress, "Kieran said he told her to fit me into this. It wasn't her idea. Do you know why?"

"He's likely planning some event that he needs you dressed up for. High ranking lords or something of the same kind. Don't worry too much about it," he said, looking at her. "You do look lovely wearing it."

She smiled some, "Thank you."

Murtagh stood and pulled her up to her feet as well, hugging her tightly and kissing her temple. "I hope Kieran didn't torture you too much getting you into that dress."

"Not at all, actually she seemed quite pleasant this morning, aside from the blueberry incident, but all the same."

"Really?" He blinked, "That's surprising. Kieran being civil… huh."

"Don't act like it's such a surprise!"

Mariah pulled out of Murtagh's grip and turned to look at Kieran standing in the doorway, her arms folded under her bust.

"I'm not that awful to be around all the time. So what if I get angry every once in a while, it's not my fault, it's just how I am." She paused, walking into the room, "And as far as the event, with the lords, you're almost right, Murtagh. It's a party, of sorts, only a handful of people have been invited however to attend. I've been instructed to tell you it is tomorrow evening in the greater dining hall. Tomorrow, you won't train in the afternoon, like normal, you'll spend it getting ready. Mariah, you'll come to my room and I'll make sure you're prepared for everything the best I can. Now hurry up and change, we have archery practice in half an hour." With that Kieran turned on her heel and strode off.

Murtagh glanced down at Mariah, pulling her back into a hug, giving her a crooked smile, "I wouldn't want to be you tomorrow. That's going to be rough, stuck with her all afternoon." He kissed her quickly and pulled away, "Go ahead and change, I'll meet you in the armory in ten minutes."

* * *

No, no Mark and no Kendra. Sorry if anyone missed them but I'll try my best to cover more of them in the next chapter. This one was really Eragon-heavy, I know.

Lots more of Kieran though, so you get half of the twin set.

I can't... think of anything else to say right now...

With Love, As Always,

Mariah


	14. Ch 54: A Sanguine Affair

**Chapter Fifty-Four: A Sanguine Affair  
**

Mark tied off Aluora's reins and turned to look at Kendra. Without a word to him, she was sweeping herself into the tavern with Nyx at her heels, leaving Mark with only the option of following. He flicked his hair out of his face, rain droplets spraying slightly behind him. The wolf seemed to enjoy the water dripping from his fur as he padded behind Kendra. Her heeled boots clicked on the wooden floor as she strode right up to the lady bartender, leaning on the counter. The blonde woman greeted her brightly, pouring a drink; Kendra bowed her head slightly, muttering to her gently. Mark raised an eyebrow at the exchange, straining his ears to listen. The blonde woman's eyes glanced up at him a moment before she turned and made her way to the other end of the bar.

The princess sat down on a barstool and looked at Mark, "Well, sit down."

He did so without a second invitation, glancing at Nyx as he flopped onto the floor at Kendra's feet. "What are we doing here?"

"Later, not with wandering eyes and ears," she insisted, bringing the glass to her lips.

Mark glanced at the bartender as she placed a sparkling glass of amber-colored liquor in front of him, then looked down at the glass before flicking his eyes to Kendra. "I don't drink."

"You do, starting now. Drink it." She said flatly, her gaze simply daring him to say no.

"I'll say it once more, I don't drink."

Her eyes narrowed a bit at him as she tossed back the rest of hers and snatched up the one in front of him, "More for me then." She downed his drink as well and smirked a little. After a few minutes of meaningless chatter between them, Mark found it apparent that her eyes were darting across the room behind him; she was looking for something. When her dark eyes stopped on someone mixed among some loud rabble, he realized he'd been the target all along. "Isolate him."

Mark turned his head slightly, flicking his gaze back at the quiet one out of the bunch. A smirk flickered across his lips and he turned back to Kendra, "Back door?"

"Just behind that wall over there," she said, pointing her nose to his left.

"Head out, I'll take care of it. He'll be in your hands in a few minutes." Mark pushed off the bar and turned around, as if to leave, slamming into one of the rowdy drunkards nearby their target's table.

As his liquor spilled from his stein, he turned red, slurring a bit as he spoke, "Oy! Watch where yer headed next time, whelp!" The man shoved back at Mark, pushing him into yet another loud, plastered man. From behind him, Mark heard a furious growl and was quickly jostled forward back into the first. "Tha's it, ya better be prayin' ta whatever gods ya think'll protect ya from this." He held up a fist and swung forward.

Ducking, Mark squeezed out of the way, watching as his fist crashed into the second drunk's face. As planned, chaos ensued. Between the alcohol being circulated around the room and general boisterous nature of the regulars at the bar, the fight escalated into a full on brawl. Shattered glass soon covered the floor with beers and wine splashing over everything and everyone that it could cling to. Looking through the mess of people, Mark spotted Kendra's target slipping out through the back door. He sidestepped through the fighting and pursued.

"Seems like you had this all figured out then." She said, watching as he entered the alley way. The escapee was already bound, sitting against the wall with Nyx sitting on his haunches nearby. "We need to get somewhere quiet where we can finish this."

"Why don't we just interrogate him here?" Mark asked.

Kendra rolled her eyes a little, "He's not what we're here for. But we need to get somewhere quieter first." She grabbed the man by his arm and pulled him to his feet, shoving him into Mark. "Keep hold of him. He's gonna lead us where we need to go." Nyx growled at her heels and snapped at the man's heels. "Now Jeremy, if you don't mind."

He straightened a bit and started walking with Mark keeping a hold of him. It was starting to get dark and the people in the streets were quickly dissipating, returning to their homes for the evening, leaving their way clear. The few glances stole their way were removed after a moment, finding nothing overly suspicious about them at the moment.

"So, where are we going?" Mark asked Kendra quietly as they walked.

She looked over at him, then around the street to make sure no one was listening, "There's a network of them throughout the Empire. They creep into Surda. I need to know where they're hiding."

Soon they were nearing the edge of town when Jeremy turned and headed down a side alley, halting in front of a back door. In the flickering lamp light, Mark could make out a small symbol carved into the wooden frame.

"Now what?" Kendra asked, pulling at the gag around his mouth.

"You're supposed to knock," he told her through narrowed eyes.

She sneered at him a little and knocked twice.

Nothing happened.

"You said to knock, so I did," she flicked a knife up in between her fingers. "What-"

She froze as she felt a blade against her neck. Hot breath panted in her ear, "Wouldn't wave that knife around so much if I were you." Kendra was shoved into a wall, still at knife point. "Let him go."

Mark looked at Kendra and she blinked at him in agreement. Slowly, he let Jeremy go. Halfway through the process, the princess stepped backward, digging her heel into her captor's foot, jamming her elbow in their stomach. The knives both hit the dirt as they tussled.

"Letta!"

Looking between them all, Mark slowly lowered his hand. His eyes moved to Kendra, releasing the magic around her first. She huffed and picked up her weapon, sheathing it and standing upright. "That's better. Good. Now, you two," Kendra looked at the newcomer. "How to get inside, since Jeremy feels disinclined to tell us at the moment."

Letting go of the magic a little, he allowed the new person to speak, but wouldn't release it so far as to let them move away. "You don't knock like that." They insisted. "What do you want?"

"Information." Kendra said, "Anything about Galbatorix I can squeeze out of your spies."

"I hate to disappoint you, but you already know everything we have to offer."

"Do I now? Huh, well, that's new information to me." She said, "Now will you tell me how to get inside." It wasn't much of a question.

They smirked from underneath their hooded scarf, "Afraid not." Kendra's snarl matched her wolf's, the hooded spy glanced between them and winced.

"Allow me then," Mark said. The princess looked back at him and shrugged, grasping Jeremy's arms behind his back so he couldn't escape. He stood in front of the masked person and flicked the hood back, pressing his fingertips against their temple and forehead. Invading their mind seemed easy enough, once he knew which walls to get around. Then, locating the information was simple. "Three times, short, with a few seconds pause in between." He smiled a bit at them, "That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Mark turned and tapped on the door as he'd learned how to. In a moment, the door slipped open, inviting them into a downward running staircase. "After you."

Kendra nodded, shoving Jeremy ahead of her down the stairs with Mark following behind along with the masked spy. At the end of the stairway was another door, which Kendra simply kicked open. Standing in the room were three others, armed and masked, ready to attack. The princess jammed her knife toward Jeremy's throat and they hesitated. "Lower your weapons," she insisted.

At a silent plea from the captives, they tossed the knives away.

"Better," she said. "Now, I'm not in the business of killing people for no reason, so if you all want to cooperate with me, this'll all go along much smoother. Tie them up."

Mark glanced over at her and she gave him a look, silent asking what was taking him so long. He shook his head and twisted his hand, magically pulling five chairs into a row and methodically binding the spies' wrists. When he'd finished he stepped back towards Kendra.

"Lovely." She slowly walked around the room while Nyx stood guard in front of the spies, growling quietly at them all the while. Her fingers traced over the table as she observed maps and open books strewn about. "These look like Imperial battle plans… Jeremy, tell me what this is for?"

"If you think any of us are going to talk to you that easily-"

Mark smacked his hand against Jeremy's shoulder, leaning down and looking him in the eye. "This is not my idea of fun. I have better things to be doing than standing in a spy's underground hide out, figuring out Imperial battle plans. My time could be much better spent doing something of significance so, either you tell her what she wants to know or you start explaining why I shouldn't just search your mind and kill you now. Your choice."

Jeremy stared at him, going quite pale. "Galbatorix wants to know what the Varden's next move is now that they've entered into agreement with Surda. The information on the table consists of the king's original battle plans to enter the country and attack them with full forces, however considering Nasuada's leadership, the plans are going to need adjusting. We've collected full reports on what the Varden is planning on doing next and were planning on relaying them to the king in the next week, when we have a chance to get back to Urû'baen."

"Is that everything?" Mark asked, his mouth twitching as he realized just how careless he'd been around Nasuada lately. If these petty spies were able to get this much information, he shouldn't be leaving her side so often.

"Yes." Jeremy nodded to him quickly.

The masked spy shifted and shook their head; Mark stood and walked over, pulling the mask off and looking at the girl sitting there. "No?"

"Galbatorix is planning on recreating the Forsworn."

"What?" Mark stared at her, stunned.

"As far as my reports go, he has at least two Dragon Riders at the castle, they've been there for a while, and the exact length of time is unknown, however Nasuada's spies will have news of it shortly. We've intercepted most of them, but after tonight, some of them are bound to get through to her."

"He has two Riders?"

"Yes. The entire war he is planning out is centered on destroying the resistance and taking back complete power over Alagaësia. He believes the best way to succeed is to have a new Forsworn at his side. The recreation of Dragon Riders in the world will allow for a balance and control that has not been since their destruction so many years ago."

Mark was shaking slightly, "His Riders… tell me everything you know about them."

"The dragons are mostly red in color, but it is difficult to tell sometimes from so far away, the sunlight often changes their coloring, sometimes they even look pink. No one knows anything about the Riders… but we can only assume they are being kept inside the castle until he wishes to release them onto the Varden."

He looked up at Kendra who appeared just as stunned as himself. "What do you want to do now?"

She stood there a moment and looked around the small room, "Take everything. After you've searched them, wipe their memories. I'm sure you know how to do that? Nyx will stay with you, I'll get the horses."

When all five of the Imperial spies had been drained of their information, Mark used magic to make them unconscious and untying their hands from their chairs. When they woke, they would have no recognition of who had been there or what had been stolen from them, only knowing that someone had stolen the information. Kendra tied the last of the saddlebags shut and mounted her horse, heading out of town again under the night sky with Nyx running beside her. Aluora kept pace with the princess' mount as Mark sat up in the saddle, silent. Not once did Kendra say a word to him, and he appreciated her silence.

In the morning when they arrived back in Aberon, they dropped off their stolen information with Delaney. Kendra tied off her horse outside the shop and walked back with Mark to the stables, leading Aluora.

"You did a good job interrogating those spies. Didn't even have to resort to violence… well, I don't consider threats violence, but some people might." When he simply nodded,she scoffed, "What's the matter with you? Was it too much? I shouldn't have brought you; I knew this would end up happening."

"No, it's not that…" he insisted, walking Aluora into her stable, "It's what they said… about the Riders."

"What about them?"

He stared at her, debating with himself. If he told her about his sister, he would be giving her a level of trust he shared with no one else, one of the deepest secrets he harbored. He firmly believed his sister was still alive, and after what the spies had told him about the dragons, was adamant that one of those Riders at the capital was his sister. Mark snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Kendra gasp.

She was staring at a gray stallion tossing his head back and snorting loudly. He stamped his feet a few times, whinnying. Kendra walked straight over in front of him, where most people would have stepped back; she put her hand out and stroked his nose. The horse settled down and pressed against her hand, nipping playfully at her hair. "Tornac…"

"How do you know his name?" Mark asked, blinking at her.

Kendra turned back to Mark, "I could ask you the same. Please tell me… what's become of Murtagh?"

* * *

"Good morning my sleepy little bird, it's time to wake up."

Mariah moaned, rolling over and throwing a pillow at Kieran. The woman twisted around to the other side of her bed and prodded at her some more. "Get up, c'mon."

Her green eyes flickered open and she glared at Kieran, "What time is it?"

"The sun's not up quite yet, so I'll say-"

"Too early. Sun's not up, neither am I."

"Oh, come on, you'll miss out on all the fun I have planned for us today."

She said, sitting up, puzzled, "I thought I was getting the day off?"

"Obviously Kieran has different plans," Murtagh said from the doorway, leaning on the wall. "She woke me up nearly ten minutes ago."

Mariah sighed and looked back at the princess. She was wearing a nice set of clothing, not so much that she would match Mariah in the dress she'd given her, but nicer than normal every day wear. "Fine, what are we doing?"

"Get ready and I'll show you." She said, hurrying out, dragging Murtagh along with her.

She stood, stretched, and found a nice tunic and breeches to wear, slipping on a pair of comfortable boots before meeting them in the hallway.

"Finally!" Kieran said, turning on her heel and heading off. Mariah blinked, watching her strut down the hallway.

"Don't mind her, she's just like this sometimes," Murtagh insisted, smiling at her a little. "Morning, by the way." He took Mariah's hand and followed after Kieran with her.

They followed her through the vast, empty halls and past guards patrolling about and maids hurriedly running around, scrubbing everything and anything that looked even remotely dusty. After a few minutes Mariah blinked, "Are we getting breakfast?"

Kieran halted in front of them and swiveled on her heel, trotting back a ways, down a side hall to the kitchens. One of the cooks handed her a tray filled with food and before Mariah could even think about snatching something up, the princess was off again. She groaned and followed Kieran astride Murtagh. Finally she stopped in front of a set of immaculate double doors, guarded by two men with spears. Exactly what Mariah would have pictured from a story Brom had once told. They took half a moment to open the door for Kieran, allowing all three of the Riders inside. As soon as Murtagh's foot was past the threshold, the door smacked shut again.

"Oh… my…" Mariah stopped breathing for a moment. The sheer number of books would have given Mark a heart attack, after which he would never have left the confines of the room. It was like entering a temple, the sheer beauty of the stained glass windows from high above. An enormous crackling fireplace lit what the sunlight did not. Columns and rows of books seemed to stretch on forever; every single book that had ever existed must have at least one copy sitting upon the shelves here. The second story was easily accessible from the floor by a spiraling staircase and the high book cases twenty feet above that had ladders ascending up to them.

"You haven't been in here yet?" Murtagh blinked down at her. She shook her head slowly. "Oh." He said simply, pulling her over to a plush burgundy couch in front of the fire. Kieran had set the food down and vanished between all the shelves. He stretched out a bit, snatching up some food and kicking his feet up on the table.

Kieran came trotting back a moment later, laden with books, "Feet off the table." She snapped, sitting down with the books. "I thought you two could teach me some of the Ancient Language this morning, before we have to do anything."

"Can I at least eat first?" Mariah asked. She nodded, popping open a book and reading while the other two ate. "I didn't realize this was here… inside the castle. Why are there guards?"

Murtagh snorted a laugh, removing his feet from the tabletop, "Because there are things in this library that Galbatorix wants no one to know about. Kieran and he are the only two allowed in here without supervision. Anyone else must be accompanied by either Galbatorix or Kieran to gain entrance."

"What exactly is in here that's so important?"

He shrugged, "I don't know, Kieran's never told me. Doubt she's planning on telling me either way."

"Nope." She said shortly, flicking a page over.

"Thought as much, anyway, what do you want us to teach you exactly Kieran?"

"You seem to know more words in the Ancient Language than I do, or at least, are much more fluent in them than I. Simply put, I would like to be able to speak it just as easily I do these words, without much thought or time consumption."

Mariah blinked, "What you're asking takes years of practice and study… I don't know how we'll be able to cover all this in a morning."

"I wasn't planning to, but at least I could start by doing something, you know?" Kieran smiled a bit at her, "And it'll help pass the time while we wait."

For the most part, Mariah talked and Kieran repeated. Murtagh sat and watched for some time before finding it boring and repetitive of what Mariah had already taught him while traveling. He searched around a few minutes before finding a book to his liking, sitting on the second floor against a wall and reading, trying to ignore their high-pitched chatter.

The fire never once died down, leaving Mariah to believe it was magically set into place. Kieran's attention never once faltered from learning the Elvish material and after several long hours, had a full grasp of nearly fifty new words. She beamed with delight when Mariah praised her accomplishments, but her smile faltered when a loud set of bells chimed from overhead.

"We need to go get ready. Murtagh!"

He sighed and stood up, looking down at her, "Yes Kieran, what?"

"You need to go get ready as well. I had Natalie set out some clothes for you to wear as well."

"I am perfectly capable of getting myself dressed Kieran." He insisted, descending the stairs and stopping beside the couch. "Thank you for your concern however."

She huffed, "Just go change."

"Fine, fine," he threw his hands up in mock surrender, grinning at Mariah. "I'll see you in a while then, have fun with Kieran." She glared at him as he left.

"Come on Mariah, we have to get ready." Kieran left her books sitting on the table and took her arm, pulling her from the library and back to her room.

When they arrived, Natalie was waiting for them, curtseying to the Riders before going to fetch Kieran's dress. Mariah huffed and sat down in a chair, watching as she pulled off her clothing and tossed it on the floor. Watching Kieran strut about the room with nothing but her corset and under clothes left her embarrassed, finding the whole situation uncomfortable.

"What's the matter?" She asked, pulling Mariah out of her silent contemplation, "Your face is all red."

Mariah blinked, "I… I'm not usually around women while they're getting dressed like this. That's all."

Kieran stared at her, "…you've never had someone help you get dressed before?"

"I've never needed someone to help me into a dress. I mean… I usually just wear tunics and breeches." Mariah admitted to her, not going to mention any of the times Mark had laced up the back of one of her rare dresses, but that situation was a little different.

"You should get used to it. Natalie's very helpful." Kieran insisted, stepping into the dress the maid was holding.

Natalie smiled simply, "Thank you m'lady." Her fingers tightened the back of the dress and started lacing up the back swiftly with nimble, practiced movements. When she finished Kieran stepped away and over to her vanity, snatching a pair of earrings and putting them in. Then, Natalie turned to Mariah.

She shook her head and stood, removing her tunic. As she kicked her boots away and stripped off her breeches, Mariah muttered under her breath.

"You're not wearing a corset?"

"…no," she said simply. "I have never worn a corset…"

Kieran dropped her bracelet she was getting ready to put on and turned, staring at Mariah. "You really are from the middle of nowhere aren't you? Natalie, find her one. Now please."

Before she'd finished, Natalie was walking back with a corset, slipping it around Mariah's waist and lacing it up both sides.

"Kieran, is this really necessary?" Mariah choked out, gasping as she pulled it almost too tight. Her ribs felt crushed under the pressure for a moment before it evened out. She braced her hand against a wall and yelped as Natalie finished.

"Yes." Kieran told her simply, clasping her bracelet and turning around, watching Mariah step into the red dress the princess had given her. "Mmm… I think the black heels Natalie."

"Of course M'lady." She nodded and headed to the princess' wardrobe, pulling out the heels she requested and bringing them back to Mariah, helping her to step into them. "There you are. Those fit you well."

Kieran strolled over, bare footed, and threw a necklace around Mariah's neck, clasping it. She tapped her lip a moment, "That looks pretty good to me. I don't think you need anything else… your ears aren't pierced either, so you can't very well wear earrings. Natalie, could you just pull her hair up nicely and put a few nice pins in?" She turned and walked to the wardrobe, finding a pair of heeled black and silver shoes that matched her dress perfectly.

When Natalie had finished pinning up Mariah's hair it was time to go. Kieran dismissed the maid girl after thanking her and took Mariah by the arm, dragging her down the corridor toward the main hall. Standing in an alcove, clearly on edge, was Murtagh. His ensemble Kieran had sent to him was a pair of black breeches tucked into a shining new pair of ebony boots. The red tunic was edged with gold trim and embroidered with an intricate swirling pattern.

"Ah, Murtagh, there you are."

"Yes Kieran, I've been waiting. It took you long enough now didn't it?" He asked, turning toward them. Murtagh's gaze flickered behind Kieran to Mariah. Her black hair a complex mess of spirals and loops, no hair around her neck with a few jeweled pins clasped in her hair to add a little sparkle.

"We had things to do Murtagh," she insisted, sniffing a bit at him before entering the room through the doorway.

As the doors shut behind her, he found himself staring at Mariah. "I've never seen you look more beautiful as you do right now."

She stared back at him, "You mean that? It's not too much? I feel so strange dressed up like this."

"Not at all," he assured her, wrapping his arms around her waist, "You are stunning." Murtagh smiled and kissed her lightly.

Heart aflutter, she felt her lips smile against his own and, for the first time, kissing him back.

* * *

After the party, Queen Islanzadí showed Eragon and Saphira were they could sleep for the night; their short walk through Ellesméra ended as they reached the base of a tree. The trunk was ridged by a delicate staircase that spiraled up to a series of globular rooms cupped and suspended din the tree's crown by a spray of branches.

Islanzadí lifted an elegant hand and pointed at the eyrie. "You needs must fly there, Saphira. Our stairs were not grown with dragons in mind." Then she spoke to Eragon: "This is where the leader of the Dragon Riders would dwell while in Ellesméra. I give it to you now, for you are the rightful heir to that title… It is your inheritance." Before Eragon could thank her, the queen swept past and departed with Arya, who held his gaze for a long moment before vanishing deeper into the city.

_Shall we see what accommodations they've provided us with? _Asked Saphira. She jumped into the air and sailed around the tree in a tight circle, balancing on one wing tip, perpendicular to the ground.

As Eragon took the first step, he saw that Islanzadí had spoken true; the stairs were one with the tree. The bark beneath his feet was smooth and flat from the many elves who had traversed it, but it was still part of the trunk, as were the twisting cobweb banisters by his side and the curved railing that slid under his right hand.

Because the stairs had been designed with the elves' strength in mind, they were steeper than Eragon was used to, and his calves and thighs soon began to burn. He was breathing so hard when he reached the top – after climbing through a trapdoor in the floor of one of the rooms – he had to put his hands on his knees and bend over to pant. Once recovered, he straightened and examined his surroundings.

He stood in a circular vestibule with a pedestal in the center, out of which spiraled a sculpture of two pale hands and forearms that twined around each other without touching. Three screen doors led from the vestibule – one to an austere dining room that might hold ten people at the most, one to a closet with an empty hollow in the floor that Eragon could think of no discernible use for, and the last to a bedroom overlooking, and open to, the wide expanse of Du Weldenvarden.

Taking a lantern from its hook in the ceiling, Eragon entered the bedroom, creating a host of shadows that jumped and swirled like madcap dancers. A teardrop gap large enough for a dragon pierced the outer wall. Inside the room was a bed, situated so that he could watch the sky and the moon while lying on his back; a fireplace made of gray wood that felt as hard and cold as steel when he touched it, as if the timber had been compressed to unsurpassed density; and a huge low-rimmed bowl set in the floor and lined with soft blankets where Saphira could sleep.

Even as he watched, she swooped down and landed on the edge of the opening, her scales twinkling like a constellation of blue stars. Behind her, the last rays of the sun streaked across the forest, paining the various ridges and hills with a hazy amber that made the needles glow like hot iron and chased the shadows back toward the violet horizon. From their height, the city appeared as a series of gaps in the voluminous canopy, islands of calm in a restless ocean. Ellesméra's true scope was now revealed; it extended for several miles to the west and to the north.

_I respect the Riders even more if this is who Vrael normally lived, _said Eragon. _It's much simpler than I expected. _The entire structure rocked slightly in response to a breath of wind.

Saphira sniffed her blankets. _We have yet to see Vroengard,_ she cautioned, although he sensed that she agreed with him.

As Eragon closed the screen to the bedroom, he saw something in the corner that he had missed during his first inspection: a spiral staircase that wound up a dark wood chimney. Thrusting the lantern before him, he cautiously ascended, one step at a time. After about twenty feet, he emerged in a study furnished with a writing desk – stocked with quills, ink, and paper, but no parchment – and another padded roost for a dragon to curl up on. The far wall also had an opening to fly through.

_Saphira, come see this._

_How? _She asked.

_Through the outside._ Eragon winced as layers of bark splintered and cracked under Saphira's claws while she crawled out of the bedroom and up the side of the compound to the study. _Satisfied? _he asked when she arrived. Saphira ranked him with her sapphire eyes then proceeded to scrutinize the walls and furniture.

_I wonder,_ she said, _how you are supposed to stay warm when the rooms are open to the elements?_

_I don't know. _Eragon examined the walls on either side of the breach, running his hands over abstract patterns that had been coaxed from the tree by the elves' songs. He stopped when he felt a vertical ridge embedded in the bark. He tugged on it, and a diaphanous membrane unspooled from within the wall. Pulling it across the portal, he found a second groove to hold the hem of the cloth. As soon as it was fastened, the air thickened and became noticeably hotter. _There's your answer_, he said. He released the cloth and it lashed back and forth as it rewound itself.

When they returned to the bedroom, Eragon unpacked while Saphira coiled upon her dias. He carefully arranged his shield, bracers, greaves, coif, and helm, then stripped off his tunic and removed his shirt of leather-backed mail. He sat bare-chested on the bed and studied the oiled links, struck by their similarity to Saphira's scales.

_We made it, _he said, bemused.

_A long journey… but yet, we made it. We're lucky that misfortune did not strike upon the road._

He nodded. _Now we'll find out if it was worth it. Sometimes I wonder if our time would have been better spent helping the Varden._

_Eragon! You know that we need further instruction. Brom would have wanted it, Mark insisted upon it. Besides, Ellesméra and Islanzadí were certainly worth coming all this way to see._

_Maybe. _Finally, he asked, _What do you make of all this?_

Saphira parted her jaws slightly to show her teeth. _I don't know. The elves keep more secrets than even Brom, and they can do things with magic that I never thought possible. I have no idea what methods they use to grow their trees in to such shapes, nor how Islanzadí summoned those flowers. It is beyond my ken._

Eragon was relieved that he was not the only one who felt overwhelmed. He watched her rest her head on her two front feet. The stars were bright in the sky now, and the soft hoots of owls drifted through Ellesméra. All the world was calm and silent as it slumbered away the liquid night.

Eragon clambered underneath his downy sheets and reached to shutter the lantern, then stopped, his hand an inch from the latch. Here he was in the elves' capital, over a hundred feet in the air, lying in what used to be Vrael's bed.

The thought was too much for him.

Rolling upright, he grabbed the lantern with one hand, Zar'roc with the other, and surprised Saphira by crawling onto her dias and snuggling against her warm side. She hummed and dropped a velvet wing over him as he extinguished the light and closed his eyes.

Together they slept long and deep in Ellesméra.

* * *

It's late. I know that, no excuses this time aside from the fact that I'm having a very difficult time trying to pace the story and still get everything I want into it. The next chapter will hopefully be better. This was by no means my favorite, but it had to be done.

Kendra and Mark's section was my favorite this time. What do you think about it all?

Thanks to all of those who read, review, PM and love reading as much as I love writing. Please, please, review and write back to me, it gives me the inspiration I need to go on.

With Love, As Always,

Mariah


	15. Ch 55: New Riders

**Chapter Fifty-Five: New Riders**

"Ah, good, now you're all here."

Mariah stared around the hall, her eyes flickering between all the people seated around the large table. Fifteen young men and women were looking towards the Riders, each one looking very different from the next.

"Well, sit down," Galbatorix said, shooting a look at Mariah and Murtagh. Kieran had already found her seat next to him, the other two quickly following suit. "Good. I suppose we all know why we've been gathered here today, so there's no need to go on about that. For now, everyone should enjoy their meal. There will be plenty of time to talk after dinner." As castle servants came out with their trays of food, the king walked from the dining hall and out of sight.

After the food was set out, everything went silent save for the clinking of silverware.

_What is this Murtagh?_

_Your guess is as good as mine,_ he said, glancing around the room. His eyes flickered to Kieran. _Do you know any of these people?_

She avoided his gaze, eating her food quietly. _I've seen a few of them before today, some are soldiers. Most appear to be sons and daughters of wealthy lords and the like. One or two seem to have come from less fortune, as their clothing at first glance appears to be quite well made, but is actually rather poor quality and of a size not quite fitting them. As to why they're here however, I don't know._

It was as Kieran was talking that Mariah realized what was going on. The word 'soldier' had clicked in her head gone from there. Soldiers. But why so many? _He means to eliminate some of them… one way or another._

_What do you mean by that? _Murtagh asked her, confused.

She stared at her food and paused, _Something's wrong. Stop eating. _Mariah's gaze flickered over to Kieran as recognition flashed across her face.

_He wouldn't kill us._ The princess said it firmly, as though trying to prove to herself she was right.

A moment later, one of the other boys situated down the table a ways coughed and fell out of his chair.

_Maybe not us, but the others should be worried. _

A young blonde girl let out a squeak, staring at the boy's glassy eyes as they stared up at her. "H-h-he… he's-"

"Dead?" Another girl offered with a sneer in her voice. "He should have checked his food before he ate it. Stupid really."

The tall young man next to her stood and walked over, checking the boy's pulse. His eyes flicked up towards Kieran, Mariah, and Murtagh. "Did one of you do this?"

"You honestly think one of us killed him? We've been here for less time than you have." Kieran said, "I doubt it was the food, the way he fell over makes me think someone poisoned him before now. It wouldn't have been so quick otherwise."

Most of them started shifting nervously in their seats, stealing glances towards one another suspiciously.

Murtagh watched them, "What _are_ you all here for anyway?"

"My parents told me to come-"

"I was picked from my battalion to show up-"

"Soldiers came to my home and paid my family-"

He shook his head, "Wait. So you mean to say _none _of you know why you're here?"

The girl with the sneer in her voice spoke, "Of course I know, not that I'd tell any of you sorry saps. My father is a lord, you may have heard of him, he-"

"You mean he's the lying bastard who pretends he's your father. Your mother's such a whore she doesn't know who you belong to." Kieran said to her, glaring down the table. "I know your father – Lord Reikena, he's been in the court many times… after each of which he takes one of the maid girls to bed, whichever he fancies that particular day." She paused, waiting for a retort. There was none. "Does anyone else care to weigh in?"

_Kieran, can I talk with you a minute in private? _Mariah asked, standing up and walking to a corner of the room, keeping her voice low. "Galbatorix brought them all here for a reason… I-"

"Get him Cedric!" The Reikena girl said, "Teach him a lesson!"

"Hey!" Murtagh shouted, standing up, wishing he had his sword.

Two of the boys had started arguing with each other after figuring out the others' last name and it had turned into a full-on brawl. Cedric's sister cheered him on as the fight got worse.

"He purposely chose these people… he's trying to cause conflict." Kieran said quietly.

A couple of the other boys had started in on the fighting as well. Just when Murtagh was going to step forward, Mariah grabbed his arm. "You don't need to get involved in that too."

"Someone else is going to get hurt." He muttered under his breath, watching it happen. Sure enough, Cedric ended up grabbing a knife from the table and stabbing one of the other boys with it. Two guys were passed out on the floor and the ones standing up were bloodied and bruised.

The blonde girl shrieked again as the brunette she was standing next to dropped to the floor. "Sh-sh-she was fine a minute ago."

"Everybody needs to sit down!" Kieran shouted with her hands raised into the air, glowing slightly with a magenta aura. "The next person to say or do anything is answering to me!"

The remaining four girls sat. Two of the boys that had been in the brawl were still standing; the other two not knocked out were still sitting at the table from earlier.

"Good. Now you," Kieran pointed at the Reikena girl. "Tell me your first name and we'll get this all straight."

"Camilla."

"Alright Camilla, you seem to know what's going on already. Tell me."

She shrugged, looking at her brother, "All I know is that our father wanted us both to be here so badly he bought our way in with the king. Whatever he promised was good enough to beat out the Goldenhills for the opportunity. I also know there's only enough room for six of us." Camilla looked around, "And seeing as there are ten of us left… there's still four more to go."

One of the other boys fell off his chair, clutching his chest.

"Make that three." Her eyes flickered toward the girls sitting next to her. The panicky blonde was looking paler than before.

The brunette next to her was fingering her necklace nervously, "I would just like to leave… please? Whatever it is… I don't want to die over it… so please?"

Kieran blinked, watching the exchange as it happened in front of her. Standing at her side, Mariah was stunned into silence as well.

"Any other takers?" Camilla asked, looking at the others.

A muscular boy looking to be a soldier more likely than not walked over and took the brunette's hand, walking her over to the door way, trying to calm her down. They left the room without a word to anyone.

"One left."

It was clear on all accounts that Camilla was going nowhere. Her brother, Cedric, was silent but had already stabbed someone so the likelihood of him leaving was close to zero.

"Well if you think I'm going to sit here and wait for you to tell me to leave, you've got another thing coming. I don't give a damn if you're the daughter of a lord; I'm not going to tolerate you bossing everyone around like-" His head spun halfway around with a snap and he fell to the ground, motionless.

The thin boy with curly blond hair pulled back into a ponytail stood up, lowering his hand as it lingered with excess magic, and looked towards Camilla. "Can you shut up now, since we've finished picking off the extras?"

"Of course, thank you for finishing this up for us." She stood as well and looked towards Kieran as Galbatorix strode back into the room.

"Perhaps not as bloody as I would have liked, but you've solved the problem of excess numbers easily enough," Galbatorix said. He threw out his arms wide and looked toward Mariah, Murtagh, and Kieran. "Welcome your new Dragon Riders."

* * *

Eragon woke at dawn well rested. He tapped Saphira's ribs, and she lifted her wing. Running his hands through his hair, he walked to the room's precipice and leaned against one side, bark rough against his shoulder. Below, the forest sparkled like a field of diamonds as each tree reflected the morning light with a thousand thousand drops of dew.

He jumped with surprise as Saphira dove past him, twisting like an auger toward the canopy before she pulled up and circled through the sky, roaring with joy. _Morning, little one_. He smiled, happy that she was happy.

He opened the screen to their bedroom, where he found two trays of food –mostly fruit – that had been placed by the lintel during the night. By the trays was a bundle of clothes with a paper note pinned to it. Eragon had difficulty deciphering the flowing script, since he had not read for over a month and had forgotten some of the letters, but at last he understood what it said:

_Greetings, Saphira Bjartskular and Eragon Shadeslayer._

_ I, Bellaen of House Miolandra, do humble myself and apologize to you, Saphira, for this unsatisfactory meal. Elves do not hunt, and no meat is to be had in Ellesméra, nor in any of our cities. If you wish, you can do as the dragons of old were wont, and catch what you may in Du Weldenvarden. We only ask that you leave your kills in the forest so that our air and water remain untainted by blood._

_ Eragon, these clothes are for you. They were woven by Niduen of Islanzadi's house and are her gift to you._

_May good fortune rule over you,_

_Peace live in your heart,_

_And the stars watch over you._

_ Bellaen du Hljodhr_

When Eragon told Saphira the message, she said, _It does not matter; I won't need to eat for a while after yesterday's meal. _However, she did snap up a few seed cakes. _Just so that I don't appear rude,_ she explained.

After Eragon finished breakfast, he hauled the bundle of clothes onto his bed and carefully unfolded them, finding two full-length tunics of russet trimmed with thimbleberry green, a set of creamy leggings to wrap his calves in, and three pairs of socks so soft, they felt like liquid when he pulled them through his hands. The quality of the fabric shamed the weaving of the women of Carvahall as well as the dwarf clothes he wore now.

Eragon was grateful for the new raiment. His own tunic and breeches were sadly travel-worn from their weeks exposed to the rain and sun since Farthen Dûr. Stripping, he donned one of the luxurious tunics, savoring its downy texture.

He had just laced on his boots when someone knocked on the screen to the bedroom. "Come in," he said, reaching for Zar'roc.

Orik poked his head inside, then cautiously entered, testing the floor with his feet. He eyed the ceiling. "Give me a cave any day instead of a bird's nest like this. How fared your night, Eragon? Saphira?"

"Well enough. And yours?" said Eragon.

"I slept like a rock." The dwarf chuckled at his own jest, then his chin sank into his beard and he gingered the head of his ax. "I see you've eaten, so I'll ask you to accompany me. Arya, the queen, and a host of other elves await you at the base of the tree." He fixed Eragon with a testy gaze. "Something is going on that they haven't told us about. I'm not sure what they want from you, but it's important. Islanzadí's as tense as a cornered wolf… I thought I'd warn you beforehand."

Eragon thanked him, then the two of them descended by way of the stairs, while Saphira glided to earth. They were met on the ground by Islanzadí arrayed in a mantle of ruffled swan feathers, which were like winter snow heaped upon a cardinal's breast. She greeted them and said, "Follow me."

Her wending course took the group to the edge of Ellesméra, where the buildings were few and the paths were faint from disuse. At the base of a wooded knoll, Islanzadí stopped and said in a terrible voice, "Before we go any farther, the three of you must swear in the ancient language that you will never speak to outsiders of what you are about to see, not without permission from me, my daughter, or whoever may succeed us to the throne."

"Why should I gag myself?" demanded Orik.

_Why indeed? _asked Saphira. _Do you not trust us?_

"It is not a matter of trust, but of safety. We must protect this knowledge at all costs – it's our greatest advantage over Galbatorix – and if you are bound by the ancient language, you will never willingly reveal our secret. You came to supervise Eragon's training, Orik-vodhr. Unless you give me your word, you may as well return to Farthen Dûr."

At last Orik said, "I believe that you mean no harm to dwarves or to the Varden, else I would never agree. And I hold you to the honor of your hall and clan that this isn't a plot to deceive us. Tell me what to say."

While the queen tutored Orik in the correct pronunciation of the desired phrase, Eragon asked Saphira, _Should I do it?_

_Do we have a choice? _Eragon remembered that Arya had asked the same question yesterday, and he began to have an inkling of what she had meant: the queen left no room to maneuver.

When Orik finished, Islanzadí looked expectantly at Eragon. He hesitated, then delivered the oat, as did Saphira. "Then you." Said Islanzadí. "Now we may proceed."

At the top of the knoll, the trees were replaced by a bed of red clover that ran several yards to the edge of a stone cliff. The cliff extended a league in either direction and dropped a thousand feet to the forest below, which pooled out ward until it merged with the sky. It felt as if they stood on the edge of the world, staring across an endless expanse of forest.

_I know this place, _realized Eragon, remembering his vision of Togira Ikonoka.

_Thud._

The air shivered from the strength of the concussion.

_Thud._

Another dull blow made Eragon's teeth chatter.

_Thud._

He jammed his fingers in his ears, trying to protect them from the painful spikes in pressure. The elves stood motionless.

_Thud._

The clover bend under a sudden gust of wind.

_Thud._

From below the edge of the cliff rose a huge gold dragon with a Rider on its back.

* * *

"With the addition of six more people as Riders, our life just got a lot more difficult." Kieran muttered, pacing around in her room. After Galbatorix had dismissed them all to their rooms for the evening, Mariah and Murtagh had gone to Kieran's room to discuss what had happened. "This will mean more training and time devoted to lessons and - gods!" She kicked a chair so it toppled over. "And he didn't have to go about it the way he did either! Having them pick each other off like that."

"I still want to know which of them was killing the others so silently." Murtagh muttered.

"Wait," Mariah blinked. "You said earlier he had eight eggs… right? Six you've found throughout the years and two remaining of the three from before." Kieran watched her but nodded. "And one of them hatched for Murtagh… so that left seven. Camilla said there was only room for six. Does that mean he killed one of the dragons to force them to hatch?"

"Possibly," Kieran said, sitting down after straightening up the chair. "But there's nothing we can do about it now. He kills a dragon to gain his Riders."

"You don't sound so upset about any of this." Mariah pointed out.

She smirked a bit, "The only thing I'm upset about is training the poor pathetic new children. Did you see them? Worthless, the lot of them. Camilla and her brother may possess some spirit, but their abilities leave something to be desired. That blonde girl looked about ready to pass out at any sign of blood. Even that boy who showed off his magic wasn't that impressive, I could have done that in my sleep."

Mariah stood up and stared at her. "I still don't like any of it. This whole business of choosing Riders. It's not something you can ask to be, it's forced upon you. You aren't given a choice. Dragons are supposed to hatch because of their Riders' presence… not forced to hatch for them. I think they should all go back to wherever they came from before they cause more trouble."

"And what are you going to do about it Mariah? Huh?" Kieran asked, standing and walking to her. "Whether you like it or not you _are_ a member of this Forsworn. You _will _help train those new Riders. I suggest you get used to it. This is a war we're in, and you're one of the most powerful pieces on the board, don't you forget it." The princess shoved her backwards and pointed towards the door. "Leave."

Setting her jaw, Mariah turned and left, listening to Murtagh's hurried footsteps behind her. As the door slammed, he took her hand, "It'll be okay."

She remained silent as they walked back to their rooms. When they stopped in front of her door Mariah squeezed his hand tighter for a moment, shivering a bit. "I want to go home Murtagh."

"This is your home now… at least for a while."

"No it's not." She shook her head, "This never will be my home. I could never live here and be at ease… feel comfortable. This place is a prison – one that I am unable to escape. All of this with the Forsworn… and Galbatorix's new Riders… I can't stand it. I want to cry just thinking about it."

"What can we do then Mariah? We're stuck here, bound by oaths and promises. Unless he wants us to, we can't leave."

She blinked and looked up at him. "You're right. We are stuck here."

"I didn't mean it like that… I'm sorry."

"No, it's alright, really." Mariah smiled a little, "I'm quite tired… I think I'm going to sleep, alright?"

"Of course. Sleep well." He kissed her forehead and went to his room.

She walked to her room, shutting the door behind her and staring at the window. _Andrar?_

_Yes my darling, what is it?_ He asked, shifting his head on his paws.

_I think I know a way out of here…_

He snorted.

_I mean it. If we can wait until Galbatorix wants to launch his attack on the Varden, we can escape then._

_What about your binding oaths?_

She started unlacing her corset. _I'll have to work on those when the time comes, for now we'll just have to survive through all this._ Mariah twisted and stretched until the clothing fell off, kicking off her shoes as well.

_You can tell no one of your plan, unless you want Galbatorix to know. Not even Murtagh._

_I know. _She sighed a little. _But it will be worth it in the end._

_You truly believe your plan will work? That you and Murtagh can both be free from Galbatorix?_

_Yes. I know I can make it work._ Mariah changed into a loose tunic and slipped into bed, sitting there and talking with her dragon until she fell asleep.

* * *

Considering Kendra's response to Tornac, he'd assumed her reaction to finding out about Murtagh would be exponentially worse and so, had sneaked through the castle halls with Kendra in tow, bringing her to his quarters. After having her sit down, Mark leaned up against the wall in his room with a sigh. Kendra was staring at him expectantly.

"How do you know Murtagh?" He asked.

"We grew up in the castle together and have been very best friends for a very long time. Now tell me where he is." She said.

Mark sighed again, folding his arms. "As far as I know – dead." He watched her face as he spoke gently, though truthfully.

She bit her lips and let out a slow, shattered breath. "You don't know for sure…" Kendra asked. When Mark didn't answer her, she looked back up at him, blinking in question. "Do you?"

And here was his dilemma. Whether or not to tell her about Mariah and Andrar. Without telling her about his sister, he couldn't fully explain what had happened to Murtagh. There was no other option. "In order for you to understand fully… I feel as if I need to start at the beginning."

"Beginning of what?"

"Last winter." He said, walking over and grabbing his map, pulling up a chair and sitting across from her. Mark rolled out the parchment and turned it towards her so she could see it clearly. "I used to live in a small village called Carvahall in Palancar Valley." Mark pointed to it. "I was raised from infancy by my grandfather... along with my sister. Both of our parents died shortly after her birth. Her name is Mariah. Before any heavy snow fell, she found a red stone in the forests of the Spine. In reality, it was a dragon egg, one which shortly thereafter hatched for her."

"Wait-" Kendra interrupted just where Mark figured she would. "Your sister is the Varden's Dragon Rider?"

"…not exactly. The Dragon Rider that has sworn allegiance to the Varden… his name is Eragon. He was… is… my sister's best friend. Right now, he's training with the elves in Ellesméra."

"What happened to your sister?" She asked.

"I was getting to it."

"I never was one for stories, cut to the chase Marcus."

He smirked a bit at her and looked back at the map. "After the dragons hatched for Eragon and Mariah we fled Carvahall, since Galbatorix sent his men after the eggs. Mariah and I ran ahead and made it Teirm before too long, meeting up with our grandfather and Eragon once we arrived. After a few days, we headed south again to Dras-Leona. There we were attacked by the Ra'zac that we were hunting. After running from the city, they pursued and caught up with us in the night, nearly killing my grandfather. They captured the four of us and the two dragons… from the look on your face you're wondering how we happened to escape such a situation. I'll admit to you I'm not pleased with how we managed it, but I am thankful for it. Just when I was assured there was no way out, Murtagh showed up and scared them off… rescued us. When we recovered enough from our wounds to move, my sister vouched for him and allowed him to come along with us, notwithstanding my protesting. I didn't trust him in the least, though his actions should have made me feel otherwise. We made it to a small cave where we could rest and heal up our grandfather. Unfortunately, he didn't make it, despite me and my sister's best efforts. And since he is dead, and I am sharing everything else with you I will tell you his name: Brom – a dragon Rider from before the war."

"That man has caused Galbatorix much shame and humiliation, of which I am very thankful. The fact that you are his grandson makes me feel confident that the trust I have placed in you is genuine, tenfold." Kendra said, smiling a little. "I am sorry to hear of his death… after the loss of your parents, it must have been very difficult."

He nodded a little, "Mariah took it harder than I did. From there we traveled north to Gil'ead, rounding Urû'baen with Murtagh's help. We gathered information on how to find the Varden before turning down south again, insistent upon finding the Varden."

"Why did Murtagh go along with you?" She asked, narrowing her eyes a bit at him.

"You mean to ask, why would Morzan's son even think about stepping foot in enemy territory?" Mark's lips twitched in a smirk. "I think it's because he had nothing to lose. After escaping Galbatorix, where else did he have to go? Getting out of the empire any way he could seemed like a good idea at the time I assume, and better to have Dragon Riders on your side than not."

"I suppose you would know about his lineage after traveling so far with him." She looked at the map again, "So you arrived in the Varden." Kendra pointed at the map, "What then? Wait… that would have put you there just before the battle… don't tell me-"

"He survived the battle, rest assured. The trust the Varden gave in him after that was enough to free him from his prison sentence. It was after the battle that you'll be most interested in. Eragon suffered extensive damage from the fight and was bedridden for several days after the battle ended. Ajihad, whom you know of, wanted a Rider along with him to search for any Urgals still straggling through the Dwarves' passageways. Knowing full well Eragon was in no condition to go along, my sister volunteered, despite having suffered just as much – if not more – than him in the past few days. I would have gone along with her, but I was exhausted and would have been no help. Murtagh volunteered to go in my stead. I hesitantly agreed and watched them leave. When they were returning after some time, Urgals attacked them, killed Ajihad. I followed the trail until I hit a cavern with a bottomless chasm. All evidence pointing towards my sister's death and Murtagh's."

Kendra watched him for a moment, her mind going through the details. "You speak of your sister as though she's still alive."

Mark nodded, "I believe she is."

"Galbatorix's new Riders…" she stared at him, "You think he captured your sister?"

"Yes."

"And that means Murtagh might still be alive…"

"Possibly. I don't know how valuable he is to Galbatorix, but-"

She interrupted, "He is Morzan's son. His right hand… first and last of the Forsworn, there is no one Galbatorix would rather have at his command than Murtagh."

"Kendra, what can you tell me about Murtagh, Galbatorix, and the Empire?"

"If what his spies said is true, he's rebuilding his army of Dragon Riders with the intention of releasing them upon the Varden. Your sister will be one of his pawns, if he hasn't killed her yet. The dragon eggs he's collected throughout the years… he has more than you realize he does."

"How many?"

"Last I knew, six."

"Six?"

"With your sister? Seven… and… mine… eight."

"Yours?"

"…my sister, Kieran. She too is a Dragon Rider."

Mark stared at her. "He has two Riders already… and more eggs ready to hatch… how…"

"Throughout the years after the war he spent much time locating and collecting the eggs. I myself found one or two of them, along with my sister. It's possible for him to have more dragons hatched already, if he's figured out a way to force them into hatching."

"Then there's no way the Varden can win this battle…"

Kendra looked at the map again for a minute, tracing her finger over Urû'baen. "No… there's not."

* * *

I was going to draw out the Dragon Rider choosing for a while longer. At one point I had them in an arena, killing one another for places… then I realized I was watching too much Hunger Games recently and put that to a stop. So instead, you have six very vague (for the moment) new Riders.

I'm going to start asking questions, which you are (of course) allowed to answer or not (which every you feel most like at the moment, just note it's more helpful if you do) in your review that you have the option of posting (or not) for me to see.

1. Riders? Yay or neigh? Because you know I can always kill them all off in the next chapter and start over...

2. Romance? I have heard very little of shipping since we've been going on with this story... is it something I need to address or are you sick of me toying with people's emotions?

3. Plot - do you like where it appears to be heading... you know, aside from the impending DOOM on the Varden's part?

Hope everyone is having a fun and safe holiday season, because at my house it's crazy, relatives running in and out on a whim... and then... there was The Black Friday... (shivers). Let me just say this: I would rather deal with a giant black dragon with only a toothpick than deal with that again. Enjoy the holidays!

With Love, As Always,

Mariah


	16. Ch 56: Divergent Paths - Part I

**Chapter Fifty-Six: Divergent Paths **

**Part I**

Bright as a flaming sun, the dragon hung before Eragon and everyone clustered along the Crags of Tel'naeir, buffeting them with the gusts from its mighty wings. The dragon's body appeared to be on fire as the brilliant dawn illuminated its golden scales and sprayed the ground and trees with dazzling chips of light. It was far larger than Saphira, large enough to be several hundred years old, and proportionally thicker in its neck, limbs, and tail. Upon its back sat the Rider, robes startling white against the brilliance of the scales.

Eragon fell to his knees, his face upturned. Awe and relief coursed through him. No more would he have to bear the responsibility of the Varden and of Galbatorix by himself. Here was one of the guardians of old resurrected from the depths of time to guide him, a living symbol, and a testament to the legends he had been raised with. Here was his master. Here _was_ a legend!

As the dragon turned to land, Eragon gasped; the creature's left foreleg had been severed by a terrible blow, leaving a helpless white stump in place of the once mighty limb. Tears filled his eyes.

A whirlwind of dry twigs and leaves enveloped the hilltop as the dragon settled on the sweet clover and folded its wings. The Rider carefully descended from his steed along the dragon's intact front right leg, then approached Eragon, his hands clasped before him. He was an elf with silver hair, old beyond measure, though the only sign of age was the expression of great compassion and sadness upon his face.

"Osthato Chetowä," said Eragon. "The Mourning Sage… As you asked, I have come." With a jolt, he remembered his manners and touched his lips."Atra esterní ono thelduin."

The Rider smiled. He took Eragon by the shoulders and lifted him upright, staring at him with such kindness that Eragon could look at nothing else; he was consumed by the endless depths within the elf's eyes. "Oromis is my proper name, Eragon Shadeslayer."

"You knew," whispered Islanzadí with a hurt expression that quickly transformed into a storm of rage. "You knew of Eragon's existence and yet you did not tell me? Why have you betrayed me, Shur'tugal?"

Oromis released Eragon from his gaze and transferred it onto the queen. "I kept my peace because it was uncertain if Eragon or Arya would live long enough to come here; I had no wish to give you a fragile hope that might have been torn away at any moment."

Islanzadí spun about, her cape of swan feathers billowing like wings. "You had no right to withhold such information from me! I could have sent warriors to protect Arya, Eragon, and Saphira in Farthen Dûr and to escort them safely here. If you would have told me the others might still be alive!"

Oromis smiled sadly. "I hid nothing from you, Islanzadí, but what you had already chosen not to see. If you had scryed the land, as Is your duty, you would have discerned the source of the chaos that has swept Alagaësia and learned the truth of Arya and Eragon. That you might forget the Varden and the dwarves in your grief is understandable, but Brom? Vinr Älfakyn? The last of the Elf Friends? You have been blind to the world, Islanzadí, and lax upon your throne. I could not risk driving you further away by subjecting you to another loss."

Islanzadí's anger drained away, leaving her face pale and her shoulders slumped. I am diminished," she whispered.

A could of hot, moist air pressed against Eragon as the gold dragon bent to examine him with eyes that glittered and sparkled. _We are all well met, Eragon Shadeslayer. I am Glaedr. _His voice – for it was unmistakably male – rumbled and shook through Eragon's mind, like the growl of a mountain avalanche.

All Eragon could do was touch his lips and say, "I am honored."

Then Glaedr brought his attention to bear on Saphira. She remained perfectly still, her neck arched stiffly as Glaedr sniffed her cheek and along the line of her wing. Eragon saw Saphira's clenched leg muscles flutter with an involuntary tremor. _You smell of humans, _said Glaedr, _and all you know of your own race is what your instincts have taught you, but you have the heart of a true dragon._

During this silent exchange, Orik presented himself to Oromis. "Truly, this is beyond anything that I dared hope or expect. You are a pleasant surprise in these dark times, Rider." He clapped his fist over his heart. "If it is not too presumptuous, I would ask a boon on behalf of my king and my clan, as was the custom between our people."

Oromis nodded. "And I will grant it if it is within my power."

"Then tell me: Why have you remained hidden for all these years? You were sorely needed, Argetlam."

"Ah," said Oromis. "Many sorrows exist in this world, and one of the greatest is being unable to help those in pain. I could not risk leaving this sanctuary, for if I had died before one of Galbatorix's eggs had hatched, then there would have been no one to pass on our secrets to the new Rider, and it would have been even harder to defeat Galbatorix."

"_That_ was your reason?" spat Orik. "Those are the words of a coward! The eggs might have never hatched."

Everyone went deathly quiet, except for a faint growl that emanated from between Glaedr's teeth. "If you were not my guest here," said Islanzadí, "I would strike you down myself for that insult."

Oromis spread his hands. "Nay, I am not offended. It is an apt reaction. Understand, Orik, that Glaedr and I cannot fight. Glaedr has his disability, and I," he touched the side of his head, "I am also maimed. The Forsworn broke something within me when I was their captive, and while I can still teach and learn, I can no longer control magic, except for the smallest of spells. The power escapes me, no matter how much I struggle. I would be worse than useless in battle, I would be a weakness and a liability, one who could easily be captured and used against you. So I removed myself from Galbatorix's influence for the good of the many, even though I yarned to openly oppose him."

"The Cripple Who Is Whole," murmured Eragon.

"Forgive me," said Orik. He appeared stricken.

"It is of no consequence." Oromis placed a hand on Eragon's shoulder. "Islanzadí Dröttning, by your leave?"

"Go," she said wearily. "Go and be done with you."

Glaedr crouched low to the ground, and Oromis nimbly climbed up his leg and into the saddle on his back. "Come, Eragon and Saphira. We have much to talk about." The gold dragon leaped off the cliff and circled overhead, rising on an updraft.

Eragon and Orik solemnly clasped arms. "Bring honor to your clan," said the dwarf.

As Eragon mounted Saphira, he felt as if he were about to embark on a long journey and that he should say farewell to those who remained behind, but before he could so much as smile, he was gone, swept into the sky by the eagerness of Saphira's flight.

Together the two dragons followed the white cliff northward for several miles, accompanied only by the sound of their wings. Saphira flew abreast of Glaedr. Her enthusiasm boiled over into Eragon's mind, heightening his own emotions.

They landed in another clearing situated on the edge of the cliff, just before the wall of exposed stone crumbled back into the earth. A bare path led from the precipice to the doorstep of a low hut grown between the trunks of four trees, one of which straddled a stream that emerged from the moody depths of the forest. Glaedr would not fit inside; the hut could have easily sat between his ribs.

"Welcome to my home," said Oromis as he alighted on the ground with uncommon ease. "I live here, on the brink of the Crags of Tel'naeir, because it provides me with the opportunity to think and study in peace. My mind works better away from Ellesméra and the distractions of other people."

He disappeared inside the hut, then returned with two stools and flagons of clear, cold water for both himself and Eragon. Eragon sipped his drink and admired the spacious view of Du Weldenvarden in an attempt to conceal his awe and nervousness while he waited for the elf to speak. _I'm in the presence of another Rider!_ Beside him, Saphira crouched with her eyes fixed on Glaedr, slowly kneading the dirt between her claws.

The gap in their conversation stretched longer and longer. Ten minutes passed… half an hour… then an hour. It reached the point where Eragon began to measure the elapsed time by the sun's progress. At first his mind buzzed with questions and thoughts, but those eventually subsided into calm acceptance. He enjoyed just observing the day.

Only then did Oromis say, "You have learned the value of patience well. That is good."

It took Eragon a moment to find his voice. "You can't stalk a deer if you are in a hurry."

Oromis lowered his flagon. "True enough. Let me see your hands. I find that they tell me much about a person." Eragon removed his gloves and allowed the elf to grip his wrists with thin, dry fingers. He examined Eragon's calluses, then said, "Correct me if I am wrong. You have wielded a scythe and plow more often than a sword, though you are accustomed to a bow."

"Aye."

"And you have done little writing or drawing, maybe none at all."

"Brom taught me my letters in Teirm."

"Mmm. Beyond your choice of tools, it seems obvious that you tend to be rackless and disregard for your own safety."

"What makes you say that, Oromis-elda?" asked Eragon, using the most respectful and formal honorific that he could think of.

"Not _elda_," corrected Oromis. "You may call me master in this tongue and ebrithil in the ancient language, nothing else. You will extend the same courtesy to Glaedr. We are your teachers; you are our students; and you will act with proper respect and deference." Oromis spoke gently, but with the authority of one who expects absolute obedience.

"Yes, Master Oromis."

* * *

Mariah wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth, staring up at Hal. He was much bigger than she was, taller than Murtagh and he towered her by a few inches. They were fighting dirty, no blades and no magic. _He's starting to vex me. My tolerance for this nonsense is just about used up._

_A little more patience darling. He's only doing what he's been told. _Andrar's eyes flickered over towards Galbatorix watching them from a ways off by Kieran, who was giving him an update on the status of the new riders' training.

She avoided another punch to her face and whipped around behind the boy. _I can't take this much longer. I'm about ready to put him out for the rest of the day._

_Just pretend he's Mark or something darling._ He insisted, turning his gaze back to her.

His footing was better than most of the others'. Hal had been trained as a soldier. Mariah could have figured that much out on her own, but he'd told everyone instead. The little she had seen of his previous training was actually quite impressive. On an off day he might actually be able to beat her in a fight, but today wasn't one of those.

As he turned around, she caught that half-smirk of an amused smile on his face. It was like he was actually enjoying the fight; and considering how many hits she'd managed to land on him so far, it was no wonder. His tanned skin had seen more fights than he probably cared to admit. There were faint scars here and there from brawls he'd been in during his youth. But mostly, she was intrigued by his eyes. Stormy blue flickers of his soul. Out of all the new riders, he always seemed to have an opinion about everything, yet said nothing. His serene calm was unnerving and quite annoying at times. Those eyes though, betrayed everything he presented and told her he was just itching for a fight on the inside.

She felt the confirmation of her thoughts in the fist that landed against her cheek. Picking herself up off the ground, she snarled and pounced back up, punching him once in the face and then whirling around to kick him in the chest. Hal let out a groaning gasp as he landed flat on his back. Mariah stood up straight and flicked her hair back, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. "If you wanted the fight to last longer, you shouldn't have hit me so hard." He groaned for a minute, holding onto his stomach as she walked off.

Murtagh smirked a bit as she walked over, "You could have gone a little easier on him."

"A little easier? Do you see this blood?" She pointed to her face.

"Oh, what, this?" He ran his thumb across her cheek, pulling the red away. "You're tough, you can handle that much, right?"

She muttered under her breath and huffed at him a bit, trying her hardest to stay upset. The others were waiting in line for their turns to fight. Up next was Camilla, and Kieran was insistent on sparring with her herself.

Kieran drew her blade and charged Camilla, who smirked at her, sidestepping and slashed at her with the rapier she held. The thin sword seemed unfairly matched against a Rider's sword; however after a few moments of quick-moving swordplay, it was clear Camilla used it to her advantage.

Camilla held back, barely attacking at all, avoiding Kieran's assaults and then retaliating when she was off balance or had her back turned. The woman was dressed in a fur-collared coat that flicked out just below her waist. The brown fur trimming the sleeve cuffs and tails seemed to be from a bear or wolf, certainly not some tiny pathetic animal like a rabbit. The buttons were made out of bone and her boots, supple leather. The day they had met her she had seemed almost harmless, her bark certainly worse than her bite, but after seeing her armed and in battle, there was certainly something more disconcerting about Camilla than before. Her curling brown hair drifted around her waist, flowing with her every movement.

Reaching up to her face, Mariah pushed her own hair behind her ear, fingertips running along the points on the tips. It had been a few months now since she had cut her hair off in Gil'ead and now it was starting to trail around her shoulders again, finally. At least she could pull it back when she needed to, but she missed it being so long, like Camilla's.

Lady Reikena was thin and graceful, every bit Kieran's equal. Anyone would have been able to tell she was raised in a wealthy family. What might not be so obvious is how vicious that family was. Her brother, Cederic, strutted around like a wild cat. His concerns were only of himself. Though younger than his sister by little more than a year, he was stronger and larger than her, having just turned twenty-one. He donned their family's prominent curling brunette hair and dark brown eyes, nearly black. Cederic stood just a few hairs shorter than Murtagh. And unlike Hal, his brand of crazy was obvious. The way he walked, spoke; even what he said made Mariah tense around him. If he was nearby, so was her blade. He watched his sister fight with Kieran with such intensity, she was sure he was getting ready to jump in and assist her.

Shortly after the thought flickered through Mariah's mind, Kieran had the woman pinned, bashing the rapier away and claiming victory. Galbatorix still seemed impressed enough to let Camilla retrieve her blade and take a seat.

"Who's next then?" The king asked, looking toward the other three. "Odette?"

"Y-yes!?" She squeaked, standing up smoothly. The small girl looked younger than Mariah, but was truly two years her elder. Odette was taller, thinner and paler than she was. Today, she'd had enough sense to tie back her long, flowing hair so it wouldn't get caught up in her face. It had already been proven that she wasn't much with a sword, but surprisingly she wasn't too bad of a shot with a bow.

"Would you care to demonstrate how your practice has been going lately?" It wasn't much of a question as he stood tapping the hilt of his sword.

She nodded quickly, "Of course." Her long fingers pulled an arrow from the sheath at her hip and she drew back her bowstring – it was a self-longbow. Mariah still couldn't figure out how she could pull it back, the draw looked like it would be too much for such a frail girl. A second later however, there was a yellow-fletched feather sticking out of a target all the way across the court yard to prove her wrong.

"Very good," Galbatorix nodded. "Have a seat." She slipped back down without a word, her fingers fiddling with her bow string. "Which of you two boys would like to be next?" His eyes flicked between the two blond boys.

It was Murtagh's turn to spar with one of them, so Mariah hoped it would be Pearce. Lately, they'd been so busy training the newcomers she hadn't had enough time to teach Murtagh any proper magic and Innes seemed all too eager to show off what his in-home mage had taught him already.

Of course, knowing all this, Galbatorix pointed towards Innes and said, "Stand up."

His curly pale hair was pulled back into a ponytail to keep it tame, his bright brown eyes eager and willing, though not openly offering to take on an opponent as he got to his feet. Innes was thin and wiry, shorter than Murtagh by more than an inch, closer to Mariah's own height.

From beside her, Murtagh sighed a little under his breath and stepped forward towards the other boy, wanting to draw his sword, but knowing better. The last time he'd bothered with the blade, Innes had caused it to burn red-hot and scorch his hand through his gloves. He hadn't been able to pick up as much as a spoon for a week.

"Begin." Galbatorix said, watching between them.

It was over in a few seconds. Innes had already been planning his attack out, leaving no time for Murtagh to retaliate. Mariah watched as he dropped to the ground, coughing. The blonde had started whispering under his breath before the king had even parted his lips. She growled quietly and met eyes with Innes, barreling into his mental defenses and breaking him out of his magic reverie. He sneered at her as Murtagh got back to his feet, spitting out a few harsh words and attacking back at him.

Now that the opening round was over, they were a little more evenly matched. Murtagh managed to hold his own and defend himself better when they were both thinking as fast as they could. Thanks to Mariah's tutoring, his Elvish vocabulary had vastly improved, but Innes had been studying magic longer and didn't have to search so hard for the words he did know.

At last they were both drained and Galbatorix saw fit to end it. "Enough, the both of you, neither of you need to wear out your energy preserves. Make room for Pearce, Innes… take a seat Murtagh. Mariah, come here."

She looked over Murtagh who gave her a small smile, showing he wasn't too worn out from the magic usage. Feeling a little relief, she walked over to Galbatorix and looked at Pearce.

"At your ready then," he said, observing the two of them.

Mariah drew her sword, watching the blade in Pearce's hand. Unlike the rest of them, Pearce's aura seemed different, more familiar. His gray eyes were vacant of most emotions; he was quiet but not silent. His skills with both a blade and magic were little above average. His hair was straight, blond and fell just over his eyes. He favored a shield to magic, choosing to defend himself physically rather than mentally or simply attacking full on with just a sword.

She had never understood why someone would choose to drag a shield around with them, thinking it seemed like a burden rather than aide, but the way that Pearce fought made it seem effortless. His clothes were simple, not like Camilla and Cederic's fur-lined outfits or Hal's soldier uniform, or even Innes' lordly attire. Pearce was nothing like the others, Mariah had decided, because he was like her – having come from a poor, broken family with fighting skills learned for survival, not showing off.

He blinked once at her, his cold gray eyes vanishing beneath pale skin, before he lurched forward with his short sword and attacked. As his blade clashed against her own, she watched him; there hadn't been much time to talk with the new riders since they'd arrived, so she didn't know him that well. However, there was some comfort in the familiarity she felt from him despite the fact it wasn't the same she received from Murtagh. Pearce was nearly her height, just a bit taller. The way he spoke, held himself, even his mannerisms were similar to Eragon's. Throwing the short sword off, she realized just how much she missed seeing him and silently prayed he was alright.

His blade swept against her cheek, drawing blood while she wasn't paying attention. Mariah's eyes alit with fire as she growled quietly and attacked him more ferociously than before. He stepped backward in a few smooth movements and twisted, knocking her down. Stunned momentarily, she blinked and rolled back onto her feet, throwing his sword away again as she regained her balance.

"Enough!"

She froze, instantly lowering her sword to the ground as she had now been trained to do when Galbatorix shouted. Mariah looked towards him and waited silently.

"It is clear you have been lax about your own training recently, Mariah. You will stay here with Kieran until you have properly trained. The rest of you, inside. Go on." He watched them all file inside the castle, then followed behind them.

Kieran glared over at her until the door shut, then sighed. "Look what you did, caused me extra grief is what you did. What's the matter with you?"

"Leave her alone Kieran. It was a little mistake, you've made worse." Murtagh insisted, leaning against the wall as Thorn spiraled down out of the sky and landed beside him. He snorted and nudged the boy, pushing him over. "Damnit, don't do that." He said lightly, smiling as he stood back up and patted his nose. Thorn towered over him now, nearly as large as Andrar after the growth spells Galbatorix had placed on him; he could even breathe fire already. As much as it worried her that Galbatorix could manage to do such a thing, she was grateful that he was large enough to carry Murtagh and that he was still alright after the ordeal – if a little warped. His body looked slightly unnatural, his torso more stocky than it should be. The effects weren't as bad as they could have been, and she was happy for that much at least.

"It was my fault," she said, looking toward the princess. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Then where was your attention focused?" She asked, leaning against her Rider's blade.

"Elsewhere… does it really matter?"

Kieran nodded, "Yes, it does, what if I need to snap you out of your little reverie?" She raised an eyebrow, "I won't be able to if I don't know what you're daydreaming about."

"It… it was nothing…"

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Now… we're supposed to be training, yes?" She asked, changing the subject on her before she could inquire again.

* * *

"We have to tell Nasuada."

"What?" Kendra blinked at him, "Are you crazy? She'd kill me on sight!"

Mark swiveled around to look at her, coming face to face with the woman. "If we don't say something to her, everyone's lives could be in danger. Tell me, _princess_… is your life… the chance that she _might_ kill you or simply throw you in jail worth endangering all of them?"

She inhaled deeply for a minute, her chest rising as her face reddened. Kendra closed her eyes and snatched the map off the table, storming out of the room down the hallway. "Come on!"

Mark smirked and hurried after her.

"Oh, Marcus there you are." Nasuada said to him, blinking as they rounded a corner. On either side of her was an armed guard. "I've been wondering where you'd gone off to. I had a few things I wanted to discuss with you."

"As have I. Could we speak somewhere more privately?" He asked her.

Nasuada nodded, "Yes, of course. And your… friend?"

"The three of us." He added.

"I see, very well then." She continued down the hallway to her quarters and left the guards outside. "What's the meaning of this then Mark?" Nasuada asked, folding her arms as she watched him put up silencing wards around the room.

He turned back to her once he'd finished, "It's of the utmost importance M'lady."

"Well get to it then."

Mark nodded, "We have a mutual trust between us, so please keep that in mind as I speak. This is Kendra – her father-"

"Well if you're just going to jump straight to it, I'm going to tell her." Kendra said, quite agitated at being mostly ignored. "My father is Galbatorix."

"I wasn't aware the king had children." Nasuada told her, attempting to hide her surprise.

"I'll save you the back story. What's important now is that you know-"

"Know what?"

"Of his plans to attack the Varden with his new Dragon Riders."

"Mark, explain this to me. What does she mean?"

He nodded, "We've been keeping an eye out for anything that might prove useful in our war against the Empire. Recently, we captured and interrogated a group of their spies. They relayed information that assured us of his attempts at re-creating his Forsworn. Taking everything into account… he will have half a dozen Riders on the field the day of our attack… possibly. Nasuada, our numbers can't match that. Eragon alone can't fight one, let alone six… maybe more even."

"Then what do you propose we do Marcus?" She asked, standing still as she looked at him.

"I don't know Nasuada." He admitted. "I hadn't expected this… I…" Mark stopped himself. "If the king is forcing dragons to hatch and forcing them upon Riders, they will not be very well equipped at all. Their dragons will likely not even be large enough for them to ride on, let alone breathe fire. That in itself gives us greater chances against them. If need be we will call Eragon back from his training with the elves early. I am more than willing to take on anything Galbatorix wishes to throw our way. You can count on me to be at the front. I trust myself enough to defeat one Rider… I am strong enough to do that much."

"I appreciate it Mark, thank you." Nasuada nodded a little at him, "Can you show me everything that you've learned from his spies?"

"Of course." He said, spreading out the map on the table and going over the plans they'd uncovered. Kendra stood across from them silently, her arms folded across her chest.

Finally, Nasuada looked up once they'd finished. "Your sister?"

"Twin sister."

She walked to the princess, standing face to face with her, staring into her midnight blue eyes with her cold gaze. "Tell me I can trust you. That you won't turn on me in the middle of the tide. That you aren't really here for your father to stab me in the back."

Kendra smirked, "If I were here to kill you, I would have done it already. You shouldn't trust me. You don't have to trust me. I don't want you to trust me. All I want is for you to continue leading and to let me and my companions continue doing what we do best. Don't interfere with us and we'll have no problems. All I ask is that I am allowed to borrow Mark when I need him."

"He is not mine to command."

Kendra glanced at him, "It sure seems that way to me. He didn't pledge any allegiance to you?"

Nasuada shook her head, "He said he knows how to break oaths…"

"That I don't believe. But if you trust him and don't mind if I use him-"

"Not at all."

"Then we have nothing further to discuss. I only ask you tell no one you saw my face, know my name, rank or know of my existence. I was never here."

"Of course." Nasuada said.

Kendra nodded once. "Mark. I have to leave. I'll contact you later." With that she walked out of the doors.

He watched her leave and turned his gaze back to Nasuada. "Yes?"

"It's nice to know where you've been off to without my knowing… the princess no less. Did you know?"

"Not at first."

"About her sister?"

"Just a few hours ago…"

"Hmm… and do you trust her?"

"Do you?"

"I haven't decided yet… but I don't believe I have to worry about her killing me. Not yet at least."

"I would never have brought her here otherwise. Though I do suggest you keep your escort with you at all times." Mark said. "And about Eragon M'lady. I would rather not inform him of the news just yet… in case we're wrong about something. I don't see a need to call him away from his training on an assumption."

"No. You can make the decision when to call him back… you would know best. Is there anything else that has been weighing on your mind you wish to speak of?"

He paused a moment, thinking of Mariah. "No. Thank you for asking M'lady. Good evening." Mark insisted, walking out of her room.

* * *

"Magic, swordsmanship, and other such skills are useless unless you know how and when to apply them. This I will teach you. However, as Galbatorix has demonstrated, power without moral direction is the most dangerous force in the world. My main task, then, is to help you, Eragon and Saphira, to understand what principles guide you, so that you do not make the right choices for the wrong reasons. You must learn more about yourself, who you are, and what you are capable of doing. That is why you are here."

_When do we begin? _Asked Saphira

Oromis began to answer when he stiffened and dropped his flagon. His face went crimson and his fingers tightened into hooked claws that dragged at his robe like cockleburs. The change was frightening and instantaneous. Before Eragon could do more than flinch, the elf had relaxed again, although his entire body now bespoke weariness.

Concerned, Eragon dared to ask, "Are you well?"

A trace of amusement lifted the corner of Oromis's mouth. "Less so that I might wish. We elves fancy ourselves immortal, but not even we can escape certain maladies of the flesh, which are beyond our knowledge of magic to do more than delay. No, do not worry… it isn't contagious, but neither can I rid myself of it." He sighed. "I have spent decades binding myself with hundreds of small, weak spells that, layered one upon another, duplicate the effect of enchantments that are now beyond my reach. I bound myself with them so that I might live long enough to witness the birth of the last dragons and to foster the Riders' resurrection from the ruin of our mistakes."

"How long until…"

Oromis lifted a sharp eyebrow. "How long until I die? We have time, but precious little for you or me, especially if the Varden decide to call upon your help. As a result – to answer your question, Saphira – we will begin your instruction immediately, and we will train faster than any Rider ever has or ever will, for I must condense decades of knowledge into months and weeks."

"You do know," said Eragon, struggling against the embarrassment and shame that made his cheeks burn, "about my… my own _infirmity._" He ground out the last word, hating the sound of it. "I am as cripple as you are."

Sympathy tempered Oromis's gaze, though his voice was firm. "Eragon, you are only a cripple if you consider yourself one. I understand how you feel, but you must remain optimistic, for a negative outlook is more of a handicap than any physical injury. I speak from personal experience. Pitying yourself serves neither you nor Saphria. I and the other spellweavers will study your malady to see if we might devise a way to alleviate it, but in the meantime, your training will proceed as if nothing were amiss."

Eragon's gut clenched and he tasted bile as he considered the implications. _Surely Oromis wouldn't make me endure that torment again! _"The pain is unbearable," he said frantically. "It would kill me. I-"

"No, Eragon. It will not kill you. That much I know about your curse. However, we both have our duty; you to the Varden, and I to you. We cannot shirk it for the sake of mere pain. Far too much is at risk, and we can ill afford to fail." All Eragon could do was shake his head as panic threatened to overwhelm him. He tried to deny Oromis's words, but their truth was inescapable. "Eragon. You must accept this burden freely. Have you no one or nothing that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for?"

His first thought was of Saphira, but he was not doing this for her. Nor for Nasuada. Nor for Arya. His mind flickered across Roran and then finally fell onto Mariah. He would give anything to have her back. What had happened shouldn't have; he could have done something. Knowing Mariah, she wouldn't want him thinking that way. It had happened for a reason, there was nothing he could have done. She wouldn't want him to get hurt because of her. She would never let him sacrifice himself for her, no matter what. It'd already been proven that she was willing to put herself in danger to protect him. He shook the thought away, it didn't matter now: she was gone and nothing could bring her back. What drove him, then? When he had pledged fealty to Nasuada, he had done so for the good of Roran and the other people trapped within the Empire. But did they mean enough to him to put himself through such anguish? _Yes,_ he decided. _Yes, they do, because I am the only one who has a chance to help them now, and because I won't be free of Galbatorix's shadow until they are as well. And because it's what we set out to do – it's what Mariah would have wanted. And because this is my only purpose in life. What else would I do?_ He was silent for a long moment before speaking aloud again, "I accept on behalf of those I fight for: the people of Alagaësia – of all races – who have suffered from Galbatorix's brutality. No matter the pain, I swear that I will study harder than any student you've had before."

Oromis nodded gravely. "I ask for nothing less."

* * *

This chapter is not late. Nor is it early. Authors are never late. A writer posts precisely when they mean to.

Hope everyone enjoyed seeing The Hobbit: Part I: An Unexpected Journey… because, well, this audience seems like the type to enjoy such a thing. Just between you and me, I love Tolkien so much, I started crying in the theater during the opening credits – it's true. I'm such a sap.

Happy Holidays – Happy New Year!

Two parts for you guys! It's a double feature - which should help make up for the month's vacation. Hope you enjoy and I wish you all the best for the upcoming year!

With Love, As Always,

Mariah


	17. Ch 57: Divergent Paths - Part II

**Chapter Fifty-Seven: Divergent Paths**

**Part II**

"Kendra?"

She slammed her door closed, Nyx lying outside the door, whimpering. The door opened momentarily, only long enough to let the wolf in before slamming shut again.

They glanced at one another before Trevin stood up and walked down the hall. Rowan shook his head at the ginger archer and sighed. He tapped on the door gently, waiting silently for an answer. After minutes of standing still, where most people would have shouted or gave in, Trevin merely blinked and smiled slightly as the door finally opened. He stepped over the threshold and looked at Kendra, curled up against the wall with Nyx's head in her lap.

"What happened?"

She shuddered a little. "Galbatorix has already set his plans in motion… he… he already has Riders for his Forsworn again. I don't know how it happened so fast."

"Where's Mark?"

"Still alive. He went to the castle."

"I'm sure everyone would like to hear about your trip Kendra."

She flicked her dark eyes up toward him and nodded. Nyx pounced down onto the floor and led the way out, Trevin following with Kendra behind him. He slipped down into a chair and waited as she paced around the room, speaking rapidly of their exploits to the spies' den.

"You met with Nasuada?" Rowan stared at her for a moment. "And she didn't have you arrested?"

"Mark clearly has more pull than I initially thought. She wouldn't do anything if he asked her not to. She seemed fully ready to cooperate with me, which gives us more room to maneuver. Let's just continue with what our initial plans were and go from there."

"If it comes to a fight," Rowan said, "Are you going to oppose the Empire on your own or are you going to battle alongside the Varden?"

"Why would you ask me such a thing?"

He watched her, "Are you siding with them then? Or are you still set on your earlier goal of simply freeing the people of the Empire?"

"Nasuada is no queen… I couldn't stand to see her sitting atop a throne. If the Varden mean to take over the Empire, I'm certainly not siding with them. In any case, it's not to that point yet. When the time comes I'll make my decision."

"Yes, we all know, you'll make your decision half a moment before the enemy steps foot on the battlefield." Rowan scoffed a bit at her, shaking his head.

She narrowed her eyes at him, "You know better than anyone that is not how I decide my fate. A person does not get this far in their life with these types of goals in mind without years of hard work and planning. Don't act like a split second decision is how I'm going to end it – throw it all away. I am still on my own side; there is nothing more important to me than seeing my people free of my father's grasp. The fact that he has Forsworn Riders coming to his hand means we are going to have a harder time of it. Unless you wish to quit on me now, we have much more work to do before the day of that battle arrives."

* * *

He looked at Glaedr for a moment, then said, "Stand and remove your tunic. Let me see what you are made of."

After a few exercises that left Eragon riddled with pain, they broke for lunch and entered Oromis' house. On the inner pane of the door, set within the heart of the wood, was a flat panel one span high and two wide. It depicted a beautiful, towering city built against an escarpment and caught in the ruddy light of a rising harvest moon. The pitted lunar face was bisected by the horizon and appeared to sit on the ground like a maculated dome as large as a mountain. The picture was so clear and perfectly detailed, Eragon at first took it to be a magical window; it was only when he saw the image was indeed static that he could accept it as a piece of art.

"Where is this?" he asked.

Oromis's slanted features tightened for an instant. "You would do well to memorize that landscape, Eragon, for there lies the heart of your misery. You see what was once our city of Ilirea. It was burned and abandoned during Du Fyrn Skulblaka an d became the capital of the Broddring Kingdom and now is the black city of Uru'baen. I made that fairth on the night that I and the others were forced to flee our home before Galbatorix arrived."

"You painted this… fairth?"

"No, no such thing. A fairth is an image fixed by magic upon a square of polished slate that is prepared beforehand with layers of pigments. The landscape upon that door is exactly how Ilirea presented itself to me at the moment I uttered my spell."

"And," said Eragon, unable to stop the flow of questions, "what was the Broodring Kingdom?"

Oromis's eyes widened with dismay. "You don't know?" Eragon shook his head. "How can you not? Considering your circumstances and the fear that Galbatorix wields among your people, I might understand that you were raised in darkness, ignorant of your heritage. But I cannot credit Brom with being so lax with your instruction as to neglect subject that even the youngest elf or dwarf knows. The children of your Varden could tell me more about the past."

"Brom was more concerned with keeping me alive than teaching me about people who are already dead," retorted Eragon.

This drew silence from Oromis. Finally, he said, "Forgive me. I did not mean to impugn Brom's judgment, only I am impatience beyond reason; we have too little time, and each new thing you must learn reduces that which you can master during your tenure here." He opened a series of cupboards hidden within the curved wall and removed bread rolls and bowls of fruit, which he rowed out onto the table. He paused for a moment over the food with his eyes closed before beginning to eat. "The Broddring Kingdom was the human's country before the Riders fell. After Galbatorix killed Vrael, he flew on Ilirea with the Forsworn and deposed King Angrenost, taking his throne and titles for his own. The Broddring Kingdom then formed the core of Galbatorix's conquests. He added Vroenguard and other lands to the east and south to his holdings, creating the empire you are familiar with. Technically, the Broddring Kingdom still exists, though, at this point, I doubt that it is much more than a name on royal decrees."

Afraid to pester the elf with further inquiries, Eragon concentrated on his food. His face must have betrayed him, though, because Oromis said, "You remind me of Bom when I chose him as my apprentice. He was younger than you, only ten, but his curiosity was just as great. I doubt I heard aught from him for a year but _how, what, when, _and, above all else, _why._ Do not be shy to ask what lies in your heart."

"I want to know so much," whispered Eragon. "Who are you? Where do you come from?... Where did Brom come from? What was Morzan like? How, what, when, _why? _And I want to know everything about Vroengard and the Riders. Maybe then my own path will be clear."

* * *

"What _were_ you thinking about earlier anyway Mariah?"

She sat silently for a moment, leaning into him and feeling him twirl her hair around his finger. Kieran had nearly killed her, as was always the case when battling with Kieran. Murtagh had helped her back to her room, sitting and assisting her in healing up all her bleeding wounds. By the time she was healed back up, they were both borderline exhausted and had simply sat together, leaning against the chair in front of the fireplace. She was getting used to being so close to him so much, it was nice and felt comfortable at last. More than anything she felt secure knowing he was with her, for both their sakes. "I suppose I was just worried about fighting…" she lied.

"You?" He blinked and glanced down at her, "Worried about fighting? You must be joking."

"I donno, I just sort of drifted off."

"Right before a spar?" He scoffed. "People don't just drift off like that."

Mariah sighed. "Pearce then… I get the feeling he's a lot like me. The others are more like Kieran… or you. They all know how to fight well because they've been formally trained. They're from wealthy, but broken families. Pearce though… he doesn't seem like that. I think he had to teach himself how to fight, as a survival skill."

"Perceptive," he said, smiling a bit. "I would assume you're right."

"Why so?"

"The others have family names, or at least their parents are influential enough where their children use their names as a title. Reikena, for example, is a family name. Pearce has neither."

"I don't understand what you mean," Mariah said.

"They all have surnames. Mine, since my father was a Rider and member of the Forsworn, is Morzansson. Camilla on the other hand has a family surname, passed down from her, most likely, father's side of the family. It's that simple. Usually, wealthy families have a surname. Commoners usually don't…"

She let it sink in for a moment, mulling the thought over. "Do you think less of me because I have no lineage?"

"No," he said in assurance. "There is nothing more special about anyone with a surname than there is about you. If anything I would believe you to think less of me because of my title…"

"Your father is no concern of mine."

"I believe you would say differently if he were still alive."

"Perhaps," she said, yawning a little.

He smiled, "So you were thinking about Pearce earlier?"

Mariah nodded. "I was, just before we started battling. I thought it odd he uses a shield and then digressed from there. His fighting style just isn't much like the others."

"I understand how you reached that decision. But it doesn't mean he's any less capable than the rest of them. They are all equally dangerous, even that frail girl with the bow-"

"Odette-"

"-yes her. She is possibly more frightening than Camilla. It's clear what a wolf will do to you, it's a frightened dog I'm always more cautious of."

They say quietly for a long while. Murtagh stretched out a little and leaned his head back, humming quietly as he spun her hair around his fingers. Mariah listened quietly, content leaning her head against his shoulder, watching the flames lick the sides of the fireplace. She closed her eyes and mouthed the words to the song he was humming, thinking of home.

* * *

Silence fell between them as Oromis meticulously disassembled a blackberry, prying out one plump segment at a time. When the last corpuscle vanished between his port-red lips, he rubbed his hands flat together – "polishing his palms," as Garrow used to say – and said, "Know this about me, then: I was born some centuries past in our city of Luthivira, which stood in the woods by Lake Tudosten. At the age of twenty, life all elf children, I was presented to the eggs that the dragons had given the Riders, and Glaedr hatched for me. We were trained as Riders, and for near a century, we traveled the world over, doing Vrael's will. Eventually, the day arrived when it was deemed appropriate for us to retire and pass on our experience to the next generation, so we took a position in Ilirea and taught new Riders, one or two at a time, until Galbatorix destroyed us."

"And Brom?"

"Brom came from a family of illuminators in Kuasta. His mother was Nelda and his father Holcomb. Kuasta is so isolated by the Spine from the rest of Alagaesia, it has become a peculiar place, full of strange customs and superstitions. When he was still new to Ilirea, Brom would knock on a door frame three times before entering or leaving a room. The human students teased him about it until he abandoned the practice along with some of his other habits.

"Morzan was my greatest failure. Brom idolized him. He never left his side, never contradicted him, and never believed that he could best Morzan in any venture. Morzan, I'm ashamed to admit – for it was within my power to stop – was aware of this and took advantage of Brom's devotion in a hundred different ways. He grew so proud and cruel that I considered separating him from Brom. But before I could, Morzan helped Galbatorix to steal a dragon hatchling, Shruikan, to replace the one Galbatorix had lost, killing the dragon's original Rider in the process. Morzan and Galbatorix then fled together, sealing our doom.

"You cannot begin to fathom the effect Morzan's betrayal had on Brom until you understand the depth of Brom's affection for him. And when Galbatorix at last revealed himself and the Forsworn killed Brom's dragon, Brom focused all of his anger and pain on the one who he felt was responsible for the destruction of his world: Morzan."

Oromis paused, his face grave. "Do you know why losing your dragon, or vice versa, usually kills the survivor?"

"I can imagine," said Eragon. He quailed at the thought.

"The pain is shock enough – although it isn't always a factor – but what really causes the damage is feeling part of your mind, part of your identity, die. When it happened to Brom, I fear that he went mad for a time. After I was captured and escaped, I brought him to Ellesmera for safety, but he refused to stay, instead marching with our army to the plains of Ilirea, where King Evandar was slain.

"The confusion then was indescribable. Galbatorix was busy consolidating his power, the dwarves were in retreat, the southwest was a mass of war as the humans rebelled and fought to create Surda, and we had just lost our king. Driven by his desire for vengeance, Brom sought to use the turmoil to his advantage. He gathered together many of those who had been exiled, freed some who had been imprisoned, an with them he formed the Varden. He led them for a few years, then surrendered the position to another so that he was free to pursue his true passion, which was Morzan's downfall. Brom personally killed three of the Forsworn, including Morzan, and he was responsible for the deaths of five others. He was rarely happy during his life, but he was a good Rider and a good man, and I am honored to have known him."

"I never head his name mentioned in connection to the Forsworn's deaths," objected Eragon.

"Galbatorix did not want to publicize the fact that any still existed who could defeat his servants. Much of his power resides in the appearance of invulnerability."

Once again, Eragon was forced to revise his conception of Brom, from the village storyteller that Eragon had first taken him to be, to the warrior and magician he had traveled with, to the Rider he was at least revealed as, and now firebrand, revolutionary leader, and assassin. It was hard to reconcile all of those roles. _I feel as if I barely knew him. I wish we had a chance to talk about all of this at least once. Perhaps Mark knows more about all of this. I'm sure he would have at least mentioned it to him one or twice._ "He was a good man," agreed Eragon.

* * *

"Ah, Marcus, it's good to see you!"

"Angela." He said, walking into her room and looking around. "Looks like you've made yourself comfortable." The small room was overgrown, cluttered and smelled like something was nearly ready to burn. A cackling cauldron over a spitting fire was the most likely culprit. He noted to steer away from it.

"I have dear, but it seems as though you haven't. Sit down."

He sighed and did so, listening to a hiss and a snarl. The werecat sniffed at him and padded off into the clutter.

"Oh, don't mind him. Go on; tell me what's on your mind this time." She said, perching herself atop a stool.

Mark tapped his fingers together. Why was it whenever he was bothered he ended up at Angela's spilling his guts out? He shook the thought away and sighed again. "Riders."

"That much is apparent darling."

"Galbatorix is likely to have a half dozen of them by the time the battle starts."

She grinned, "Sounds like you should get the jump on him and attack now then."

"If only it were that simple."

"But it is! All you have to do is march straight up to that castle, knock on the door and draw your sword. Not the most life-saving strategy but definitely the most effective."

He smiled a bit at her. "And it's Mariah too… if she's with Galbatorix, as I suspect. She's likely now a member of his Forsworn. I don't want to believe it, I don't want it to be true, but I think it's the only scenario that is possible in my head. I just… if she's alive that's what's happened. If not, she would have contacted me by now."

"Perhaps you're right Mark," Angela said. "But perhaps you're wrong as well. One can, after all, be both right and wrong at the same time."

"That's not possible."

"Oh it is!" She insisted. "Things are sometimes not as black and white as they appear, there is much gray in this world. Miserable color if you ask me." Angela narrowed her eyes at him, "You have a new companion since last I saw you. A woman. She's strong and influential… much like Nasuada. What is her name?"

"Kendra. And she is the second thing on my mind." He assured her.

Angela smiled, "At least you admit it and care enough about those around you to keep them on your thoughts. Most men I know wouldn't spend more than a fleeting moment thinking about those women closest to him. They would much rather spend it on more manly things, such as hunting or fighting."

Mark's smile broadened and it brought relief. This was why he always ended up at Angela's. "You are quite possibly the most amazing witch that has ever lived."

"I do try darling, I really do." She insisted. "Now, is there anything else that's lingering on your mind?"

He thought about it and shook his head, "No. Thank you for asking and listening, as usual."

"You have to tell someone sometime, and I prefer it be me instead of someone else. I do enjoy a bit of gossip now and then," she teased. Mark stood with a chuckle, knowing she wouldn't say a word to anyone about his innermost problems. "Don't be such a stranger either. I am good for reasons than just an open pair of ears. You should take advantage of it once in a while."

"I'll keep it in mind Angela." He said, taking his leave.

* * *

He looked out one of the round windows that faced the edge of the cliff and allowed the afternoon warmth to suffuse the room. He watched Saphria, noting how she acted with Glaedr, seeming both shy and coy. One moment she would twist around to examine some feature of the clearing, the next she would shuffle her wings and make small advances on the larger dragon, weaving her head from side to side, the tip of her tail twitching as if she were about to pounce on a deer. She reminded Eragon of a kitten trying to bait an old tomcat into playing with her, only Glaedr remained impassive throughout her machinations.

_Saphria,_ he said. She responded with a distracted flicker of her thoughts, barely acknowledging him. _Saphira, answer me._

_What?_

_I know you're excited, but don't make a fool of yourself._

_You've made a fool of yourself plenty of times,_ she snapped.

Her reply was so unexpected, it stunned him. It was the sort of casually cruelly remark that humans often make, but that he had never thought to hear from her. He finally managed to say, _That doesn't make it any better_. She grunted and closed her mind to his, although he could still feel the thread of her emotions connecting them.

Eragon returned to himself to find Oromis's gray eyes heavy upon him. The elf's gaze was so perceptive, Eragon was sure that Oromis understood what had transpired. Eragon forced a smile and motioned towards Saphira. "Even though we're linked, I can never predict what she's going to do. The more I learn about her, the more I realize how different we are."

Then Oromis made his first statement that Eragon thought was truly wise: "Those whom we love are often the most alien to us." The elf paused. "She is every young, as are you. I t took Glaedr and I decades before we fully understood each other. A Rider's bond with his dragon is like any relationship – that is, a work in progress. Do you trust her?"

"With my life."

"And does she trust you?"

"Yes."

"Then humor her. You were brought up as an orphan. She was brought up to believe that she was one of the two last sane individuals of her race. And now that the other one is gone, she believed herself to be the only one left. And now, here she is, proven wrong. Don't be surprised if it takes some months before she stops pestering Glaedr and returns her attention to her."

Eragon rolled a blueberry between his thumb and forefinger; his appetite had vanished. "Why don't elves eat meat?"

"Why should we?" Oromis held up a strawberry and rotated it so that the light reflected off its dimpled skin and illuminated the tiny hairs that bearded the fruit. "Everything that we need or want we sing from the plants, including our food. It would be barbaric to make animals suffer that we might have additional courses on the table… Our choice will make greater sense to you before long."

Eragon frowned. He had always eaten meat and did not look forward to living solely on fruit and vegetables while in Ellesmera. "Don't you miss the taste?"

"You cannot miss that which you have never had."

"What about Glaedr, though? He can't live off grass."

"No, but neither does he needlessly inflict pain. We each do the best we can with what we are given. You cannot help who or what you are born as."

"And Islanzadi? Her cape was made of swan feathers."

"Loose feathers gathered over the course of many years. No birds were killed to make her garment."

They finished the meal, and Eragon helped Oromis to scour the dishes clean with sand. As the elf stacked them in the cupboard, the asked, "Did you bathe this morning?" The question startled Eragon, but he answered that no, he had not. "Please do so tomorrow then, and every day following."

"Every day! The water's too cold for that. I'll catch the ague."

Oromis eyed him oddly. "Then make it warmer."

Now it was Eragon's turn to look askance. "I'm not strong enough to heat an entire stream with magic," he protested.

The house echoed as Oromis laughed. Outside, Glaedr swung his head toward the window and inspected the elf, then returned to his earlier position. I assume that you explored your quarters last night." Eragon nodded. "And you saw a small room with a depression in the floor?"

"I thought that it might be for washing clothes or linens."

"It is for washing _you_. Two nozzles are concealed in the side of the wall above the hollow. Open them and you can bathe in water of any temperature. Also," he gestured at Eragon's chin, "while you are my student, I expect you to keep yourself clean-shaven until you can grow a full beard – if you so choose – and not look like a tree with half its leaves blown off. Elves do not shave, but I will have a razor and a mirror found and sent to you."

Wincing at the blow to his pride, Eragon agreed. They returned outside, whereupon Oromis looked at Glaedr and the dragon said, _We have decided upon a curriculum for Saphira and you._

The elf said, "You will start-"

-_an hour after sunrise tomorrow, in the time of theRed Lily. Return here then._

"And bring the saddle that Brom made for you Saphira," continued Oromis. "Do what you wish in the meantime; Ellesmera holds many wonders for a foreigner, if you care to see them."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Eragon, bowing his head. "Before I go, Master, I want to thank you for helping me in Tronjheim after I killed Durza. I doubt that I would have survived without your assistance. I am in your debt."

_We are both in your debt, _added Saphira.

Oromis smiled slightly and inclined his head.

* * *

"I've decided to send you three out on a mission for me."

Mariah blinked, turning her gaze upward toward Galbatorix as he spoke. She certainly hadn't been expecting this. After being called from her room early in the morning, before the sun had even risen, she had expected a scolding or some sort of punishment from the day prior. This, however, had been the last thing on her mind.

"Now that Thorn is able to fly with a Rider on his back, I am sure the three of you can take on this task easily enough. There is an item I wish for you to retrieve for me in the north, toward Gil'ead. I don't trust anyone less than a Rider to find it for me. A Rider's blade lies somewhere in the ruins of a fortress. When its owner fell, the sword disappeared in the rubble and I have yet to find it. While you are gone there will be no use of magic that is unduly needed." Galbatorix looked towards Mariah, then he turned his head, looking out the window. "You leave immediately and you have three days to return with the blade. Else you will all be severely punished." His eyes lingered on Kieran for a moment and she locked her jaw under his gaze. "Go."

Murtagh led the way out of the room ahead of them.

_He's letting us leave, _Mariah realized, her eyes widening. She turned her gaze toward Murtagh's back for a moment. _We could escape. Instead of going north, head south toward Surda… or east toward the desert. We could escape._

_My darling, aren't you forgetting something? _Andrar asked, thrashing his tail a bit as they walked outside. His eyes looked her face over as her joy drained away. _You are still bound by oaths that cannot be broken. _

Mariah climbed onto his back and sighed inwardly.

_I doubt Kieran would have let you leave her sight anyway. It's probably for the best right now, let's just return with the sword and save our deceptions for a better day._ Andrar insisted, looking toward Thorn as he struggled for a moment against the wind before soaring after Nasreen.

Murtagh looked over at her and smiled. _This is the first time we've really gotten to fly like this. It's exhilarating. I realize now why you love it so much. The idea that you're invulnerable seems like a possibility when you're up this high._

She nodded, pushing her hair out of her face. _Just wait until you're more comfortable with it, you can do all sorts of things when you fly once you know how to move. _Feeling a bit like showing off she stood up on Andrar's back smoothly, with little effort on her part, aware of the wind and how hard she had to brace against it. The movement of the dragon beneath her didn't hinder her movement or make her cautious, just more aware. She smirked over at him and spun in a circle before bowing and sitting back in her saddle. Andrar snorted smoke from his nose, chuckling at her.

Her gaze flickered back over to Murtagh who seemed about ready to have a heart attack. His jaw was slack and he was staring. _How did you do that? I can barely sit still in this saddle; I can't even imagine standing up!_

_Practice, _she insisted. _Also, the ability to trust that your dragon won't throw you off, make any sudden moves or will indefinitely catch you if you by chance happen to fall. I happen to know that Andrar will catch me no matter what and that his flight isn't going to change much in the few seconds I'm standing._

Andrar glanced back at her, _it helps that Rider's blood runs in your veins as well Mariah._

_I don't think that has anything to do with it, Mark can't stand to be on a dragon. _She blinked, looking at Andrar. _Mark. I could scry him… we're out of the castle. I could scry him!_

_Yes, and right after Galbatorix explicitly told you not to use magic. He will know if you attempted to scry your brother Mariah, and then what? You'll be hurt or something worse… you know that's what would happen… you just can't. _Andrar said, feeling sympathy for her all the same.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed both parts. It was long and tedious, I know, but I do hope you enjoyed all the new names and faces, some familiar, some perhaps not so. I think nearly every major character was in these two chapters at least once, so that's a feat in itself.

Again, hope everyone had a fun, safe holiday, got everything they wished for and is enjoying writing the wrong date on all their papers now that the year has changed on us again.

I wish everyone the best for the upcoming year. New Year's Resolution for me? Finishing Eldest and in turn A Rider's Heart. We're nearly halfway there... though it will seem longer, now that I've been brooding over the ending... yet again.

With Love, As Always,

Mariah


	18. Ch 58: Secrets

**Chapter Fifty-Eight: Secrets**

The moment that Oromis and Glaedr were out of sight, Saphira said, _Eragon, another dragon! Can you believe it?_

He patted her shoulder. _It's wonderful. _High above Du Weldenvarden, the only sign of habitation in the forest was an occasional ghostly plume of smoke that rose from the crown of a tree and soon faded into clear air.

As Saphira rambled on and on about Glaedr, Eragon could feel the emotions roiling in her: eagerness and enthusiasm, twined with longing adoration. He tried to tell her what he had learned from Oromis – since he knew that she had not paid attention – but he found it impossible to change the subject of conversation. He sat silently on her back, the world an emerald ocean below, and felt himself the loneliest man in existence.

Back at their quarters, Eragon decided against any sightseeing; he was far too tired from the day's events and the weeks of traveling. And Saphira was more than content to sit on her bed and chatter about Glaedr while he examined the mysteries of the elves' wash closet.

Morning came, and with it a package wrapped in onionskin paper containing the razor and mirror that Oromis had promised. The blade was of elvish make, so it needed no sharpening or stropping. Grimacing, Eragon first bathed in steaming hot water, then held up the mirror and confronted his visage.

_I look older. Older and worn. _Not only that, but his features had become far more angled, giving him an ascetic, hawklike appearance. He was no elf, but neither would anyone take him to be a purebred human if they inspected him closely. Pulling back his hair, he bared his ears, which now tapered to slight points, more evidence of how his bond with Saphira had changed him. He touched one ear, letting his fingers wander over the unfamiliar shape.

It was difficult for him to accept the transformation of his flesh. Even though he had known it would occur – and occasionally welcomed the prospect as the last confirmation that he was a Rider – the reality of it filled him with confusion. He resented the fact that he had no say in how his body was being altered, yet at the same time he was curious where the process would take him. Also, he was aware that he was still in the midst of his own, human adolescence, and its attendant realm of mysteries and difficulties.

_When will I finally know who and what I am?_

He placed the edge of the razor against his cheek, as he had seen Garrow do, and dragged it across his skin. The hair came free, but they were cut long and ragged. He altered the angle of the blade and tried again with a bit more success.

When he reached his chin, though, the razor slipped in his hand and cut him from the corner of his mouth to the undersize of his jaw. He howled and dropped the razor, clapping his hand over the incision, which poured blood down his neck. Spitting the words past barred teeth, he said, "Waise heill." The pain quickly receded as magic knitted his flesh back together, though his heart still pounded from the shock.

_Eragon! _cried Saphira. She forced her head and shoulders into the vestibule and nosed open the door to the closet, glaring her nostrils at the scent of blood.

_I'll live,_ he assured her.

She eyed the sanguine water. _Be more careful. I'd rather you were as ragged as a molting deer than have you decapitate yourself for the sake of a close shave._

_So would I. Go on. I'm fine._

Saphira grunted and reluctantly withdrew.

Eragon sat, glaring at the razor. Finally, he muttered, "Forget this." Composing himself, he reviewed his store of words from the ancient language, selected those that he needed, and then allowed his invented spell to roll off his tongue. A faint stream of black powder fell from his face as his stubble crumbled into dust, leaving his cheeks perfectly smooth.

Satisfied, Eragon went and saddled Saphira, who immediately took to the air, aiming their course toward the Crags of Tel'naeir. They landed before the hut and were met by Oromis and Glaedr.

Oromis examined Saphira's saddle. He traced each strap with his fingers, pausing on the stitching and buckled, and then pronounced it passable handiwork considering how and when it had been constructed. "Brom was always clever with his hands. Use this saddle when you must travel with great speed. But when comfort is allowed-" He stepped into his hut for a moment and reappeared carrying a thick, molded saddle decorated with gilt designs along the seat and leg pieces. "-use this. It was crafted in Vroengard and imbued with many spells so that it will never fail you in time of need."

Eragon staggered under the weight of the saddle as he received it from Oromis. It had the same general shape as Brom's, with a row of buckles – intended to immobilize his legs – hanging from each side. The deep seat was sculpted out of the leather in such a way that he could fly for hours with ease, both sitting upright and lying flat against Saphira's neck. Also, the straps encircling Saphira's chest were rigged with slips and knots so that they could extend to accommodate years of growth. A series of broad ties on either side of the head of the saddle caught Eragon's attention. He asked their purpose.

Glaedr rumbled, _Those secure your wrists and arms so that you are not killed like a rat shaken to death when Saphira performs a complex maneuver._

Oromis helped Eragon relieve Saphira of her current saddle. "Saphira, you will go with Glaedr today, and I will work with Eragon here."

_As you wish, _she said, and crowed with excitement. Heaving his golden bulk off the ground, Glaedr soared off to the north, Saphira close behind.

Oromis did not give Eragon long to ponder Saphira's departure; the elf marched him to a square of hard-packed dirt beneath a willow tree at the far side of the clearing. Standing opposite him in the square, Oromis said, "What I am about to show you is called the Rimgar, or the Dance of Snake and Crane. It is a series of poses that we developed to prepare our warriors for combat, although all elves use it now to maintain their health and fitness. The Rimgar consists of four levels, each more difficult than the last. We will start with the first."

Apprehension for the coming ordeal sickened Eragon to the point where he could barely move. He clenched his fists and hunched his shoulders, his scar tugging at the skin of his back as he glared between his feet.

"Relax," advised Oromis. Eragon jerked open his hands and let them hang limply at the end of his rigid arms. "I asked you to relax, Eragon. You can't do the Rimgar if you are as stiff as a piece of rawhide."

"Yes, Master." Eragon grimaced and reluctantly loosened his muscles and joints, although a knot of tension remained coiled in his belly.

"Place your feet together and your arms at your sides. Look straight ahead. Now take a deep breath and lift your arms over your head so that your palms meet… Yes, like that. Exhale and bend down as far as you can, put your palms on the ground, take another breath… and jump back. Good. Breathe in and bend up, looking toward the sky… and exhale, lifting your hips until you form a triangle. Breathe in through the back of your throat… and out. In… and out. In…"

To Eragon's utter relief, the stances proved gentle enough to hold without igniting the pain in his back, yet challenging enough that sweat beaded his forehead and he panted for breath. He found himself grinning with joy at his reprieve. His wariness evaporated and he flowed through the postures – most of which far exceeded his flexibility – with more energy and confidence than he had possessed since before the battle in Farthen Dûr. _Maybe I've healed!_

Oromis performed the Rimgar with him, displaying a level of strength and flexibility that astounded Eragon, especially for one so old. The elf could touch his forehead to his toes. Throughout the exercise, Oromis remained impeccably composed, as if he were doing no more than strolling down a garden path. His instruction was calmer and more patient than Brom's, yet completely unyielding. No deviation was allowed from the correct path.

"Let us wash the sweat from our limbs," said Oromis when they finished.

Going to the stream by the house, they quickly disrobed. Eragon surreptitiously watched the elf, curious as to what he looked like without his clothes. Oromis was very thin, yet his muscles were perfectly defined, etched under his skin with the hard lines of a woodcut. No hair grew upon his chest or legs, not even around his groin. His body seemed almost freakish to Eragon, compared to the men he was used to seeing in Carvahall – although it had a certain refined elegance to it, like that of a wildcat.

When they were clean, Oromis took Eragon deep into Du Weldenvarden to a hollow where the dark trees leaned inward, obscuring the sky behind branches and veils of snarled lichen. Their feet sank into the moss above their ankles. All was silent around them.

Pointing to a white stump with a flat, polished top three yards across that rested in the center of the hollow, Oromis said, "Sit here." Eragon did as he was told. "Cross your legs and close your eyes." The world went dark around him. From his right, he heard Oromis whisper, "Open your mind, Eragon. Open your mind and listen to the world around you, to the thoughts of every being in this glade, from the ants in the trees to the worms in the ground. Listen until you can hear them all and you understand their purpose and nature. Listen, and when you hear no more, come tell me what you have learned."

* * *

_Mariah's up._

He flicked open his eyes after Thorn's comment and watched her padding off into the darkness silently. With an inward sigh he stood, glancing toward Kieran who seemed to have nothing on her mind save for sleep. Thorn's tail twitched as he listened to Murtagh follow.

The forest they had camped just outside of was dense and glowed slightly with starlight, as it was nearly a full moon. Looking up through a gap in the canopy, he reasoned that it was near midnight with the moon so high in the sky. He couldn't blame her for not sleeping though; the longer they were gone the more he was concerned about what this was all really about. Murtagh narrowed his eyes at the darkness and listened hard, able to hear running water just a ways off. Deciding that was likely where she went, he headed in that direction.

"Couldn't sleep?" He asked, staring at her, leaning his hand against a tree.

She turned her head slightly from where she sat, not fully looking at him. The tight grip around her dagger betrayed her seeming composure. Her head moved back toward the water and she dropped the weapon back down beside her. "I never sleep well."

"I wouldn't know," he admitted, still watching her. The moonlight glanced off the rippling water and illuminated her pale face.

Mariah blinked once and looked toward him. "Why did you follow me?"

He shrugged slightly, "Thorn said you were up."

"Didn't answer my question," she said. Her gaze locked with his for a moment before she turned back to look at the water.

Murtagh pushed off the tree and went over to her, sitting beside her. "No. I suppose I didn't."

They sat soaking up the silence for a while, not speaking, not touching, not even looking at one another, simply waiting for the other to speak.

Mariah broke first. "I still have nightmares."

"About what?"

"Farthen Dûr… Durza… the Twins… Galbatorix… and now Cederic… Hal… Camilla… and that's just the top of the list." She said, "At first I would wake up screaming… now I wear a charmed necklace when I sleep so I don't wake anyone else up. My subconscious usually warns me awake now, when it realizes it's about to happen, but occasionally I just wake up in a pool of my own tears."

Murtagh stared over at her and blinked. He was always forgetting how she was sometimes still just a child with petty things such as nightmares to contend with. When she was awake, she hid everything so well from everyone. Though she was getting better, she still hid things from him. _But it's okay, because… I still hide things from her. There's no reason to tell her things she doesn't need to know, it's only cause to upset her more._

"That's why I left camp in the middle of the night."

"What was it this time?" He asked, reaching over and brushing her black hair behind her ear.

"…Durza."

Murtagh tipped his head slightly, "You wanna tell me about it?"

She waited a moment, as if thinking about it and shook her head. "Not really."

He smirked a little, suppressing a chuckle. _Of course. _He shook his head, "Well, if you feel like sharing."

Mariah nodded and twisted her fingers together.

_Just tell me what it is Mariah. I feel so useless when you don't share what's bothering you. I can't help if you won't let me. It's my job to take care of you, you know. I did make a promise after all. _Murtagh thought to himself, watching her, not going to pry.

"I just…. I don't know," she said, turning back toward him again. Her lip was quivering slightly. Murtagh tensed, waiting for her to burst into tears. He frowned a little and sighed at her, reaching over and pulling her into a warm embrace, feeling tears soak into his shoulder as she shook with sobs.

He kissed the top of her head and whispered quietly to her. "They'll go away eventually Mariah… don't worry… nightmares don't last forever."

Mariah hugged him tighter and he set his chin on her shoulder, rubbing her back to calm her down. Finally, she pulled away.

He smiled a bit, "That's why I followed you." Murtagh wiped her face free of tears and nodded, "Better."

A small smile feathered across her lips before she leaned up and kissed him.

Murtagh hummed a bit, holding her close, welcoming the kiss. It always felt reassuring, like he was doing something right. He made her happy and that satisfaction alone was enough for him to keep going. He was doing his job, protecting her in more ways than one. "You should probably try and get some more sleep… we'll be getting to the fortress tomorrow morning, so you're going to need all the energy you can get."

"I don't want to go back yet…"

"That's fine, we can stay here a while longer." Murtagh said. She smiled, leaning her head against his shoulder and holding his hand.

When he could hear her breathing calm down and smooth out he glanced down to see her dozing off. Murtagh gave a little sigh of relief and snatched up the dagger on the ground beside her, jamming it through his belt and picking her up carefully. Standing, he adjusted his grip so her head fell back in against his shoulder before he turned and headed back toward camp and their dragons.

Thorn twitched his tail in greeting as he walked back, laying Mariah back down on her blanket. _You should get back to sleep as well, before the sun is up and we must leave._

_I'm not really that tired anymore._ He said, looking at the dragon. Thorn flicked his eyes open and raised his head at him, snorting quietly.

_Come here Murtagh,_ he said. After he was close enough Thorn nosed him in the chest, making him hit the ground. _You cannot even keep your balance. You need rest, so sleep. _

Murtagh shook his head and moved over next to Thorn, settling in against him and falling asleep, with his arms folded across his chest and face lifted toward the sky. The next time he woke, it was to a sharp kick at his leg. He snarled, glaring up at Kieran as she smirked at him.

"Time to get up," she said, striding back to Nasreen and climbing easily into her saddle.

Looking over, he saw Mariah already awake and securing her sword to her waist. _At least she slept the rest of the night it seems._ She looked towards him and smiled before looking at Kieran as she spoke. Murtagh turned and hoisted himself into Thorn's saddle, strapping in for the morning flight. They took off with Nasreen in the lead, flying lower to the ground to avoid freezing in the morning air. _I hope this is as simple as Galbatorix made it out to being. Where we simply go in, find the sword and leave._

_You should know from experience that is not how this usually works. _Thorn said, glancing back at him. _If anything, he lied to us about the ordeal entirely. There is no sword and he merely wishes to punish you for coming back to him having failed._

_Now that you say it, I wouldn't doubt if you were right. _Murtagh said, staying low against his neck to try and soak up some warmth, wishing he would have worn some warmer clothing.

* * *

"Ah, there you are. You need to come with me now." Eirika said, snatching up the cuff of his sleeve.

Mark stumbled for a moment before following her quickly, "What's wrong?"

"Kendra left early this morning and no one knows where she went. It's nothing particularly unusual but considering the state she's been in recently, no one wants her out on her own for very long." She insisted, turning them down a side street. "Rowan insisted I come find you so that you two can go look for her. You'd best not be busy with something at the moment." Eirika halted abruptly and looked both ways before opening a door that was well hidden in the alleyway.

Mark watched as she grabbed up her skirts and walked them down a steep staircase. The walls were lit with torches blazing every ten feet or so, allowing light to walk by but not as much as one may have hoped for. He brushed his hand against the wall as they went, able to hear people talking up ahead. The stairs ended and a black stone floor appeared, opening into a vast room that could easily have matched the Surdan Palace's main hall. At several points did the room flow into hallways and out of sight, leading Mark to believe there was likely a network of rooms laying beyond his vision.

As their feet hit the floor, the room fell silent for a moment as eyes flickered over to them, but as Eirika started walking again the din resumed and they were ignored. Mark looked around at the people as he followed, most of them were around twenty, a few younger and some older. Their clothes were well worn and mismatched, except for a few with matching uniforms. He returned his gaze forward and saw Rowan hunched over a table with Delaney and a few others. There were maps and other various papers scattered over the tabletop. Behind Rowan was a line of bookshelves and a locked doorway.

"Good you found him," Del said, looking towards his cousin. Eirika nodded and went to stand next to him.

Rowan looked up from his map, "I do hope you remember the way in next time Marcus, because you won't be shown it again. As Kendra has no doubt mentioned to you, this is what we all call the Black Palace. Most people who know about it wish it didn't need to exist, the few of us who are fortunate enough to have homes to return to do what we can to assist those who need it. Welcome to the underground of Surda." He stood up fully, grabbing the map and turned to the doorway. "You'll have time to get accommodated and shown around later; right now we have to go find Kendra. Normally I would leave her to go wandering around for days on end, but with a war on our hands we don't have time to be losing a leader. Del, you're in charge while I'm gone." He pushed the door open and walked into a black hallway.

Mark blinked after him dubiously and followed, the door shutting behind him. As soon as the door was closed, Rowan pulled a small chain on the wall, opening a hidden second hall illuminated with torches. He turned and walked for a ways without saying a word, leaving Mark to follow.

"How does a lord's son, raised in riches and wealth turn into the King of an underground city and spend his time helping poor people and assisting the princess of the Empire?" Mark asked, his hands in his pockets. It was a valid question and he figured he deserved some after getting dragged off like this.

Ahead of him, Rowan stopped. "Why does a bird fly?"

"You're going to give me an answer like that, honestly-"

"You wanted an answer. That's mine. Now drop it." He said, continuing on.

Mark rolled his eyes as they walked quietly. After a couple miles of twisting hallway, they arrived at a door. Rowan pushed it open carefully and stepped outside. When Mark followed, he realized why it had taken so long. The entryway was hidden well, in a thicket outside of Surda's walls. An easy way to get in or out of the city without being noticed, it was no wonder the palace guards didn't know anything about it.

"Lynette was still tethered outside when we realized she was gone so she must have gone on foot."

"Wait a second," Mark said, "Her horse's name is Lynette?"

Rowan blinked, "If you want to debate horse names with her highness, then we'll have to find her first. Now c'mon. She's on foot; she can't have gone too far for too long. Plus she's got Nyx with her; we'll be able to find a set of pawprints fairly easily."

He shook his head and pulled out the glass orb that Angela had given him. Holding it in his palm he focused at it and watched the smoke shimmer a dark blue color before clearing the way for an image: Kendra and Nyx strolling through the forest. She had her quiver strapped to her back and an arrow strung on her bow between her fingers. "She's hunting something… and they're near a river."

Rowan turned to look at him, "There's a small river to the west. It cuts through for a time before eventually turning south towards the ocean."

"Let's head that way then, shall we?" Mark asked rhetorically, waiting for him to lead since he knew the way.

* * *

Hours later, Eragon found Oromis in his hut, writing with a goose-feather quill. The elf finished his line, then wiped the nib of the quill clean, stoppered his ink, and asked, "And what did you hear, Eragon?"

Eragon was eager to share. As he described his experience, he heard his voice rise with enthusiasm over the details of the ants' society. He recounted everything that he could recall, down to the minutest and most inconsequential observation, proud of the information that he had gathered.

When he finished, Oromis raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

"I…" Dismay gripped Eragon as he understood that he had somehow missed the point of the exercise. "Yes, Ebrithil."

"And what about the other organisms in the earth and the air? Can you tell me what they were doing while your ants tended their droves?"

"No, Ebrithil."

"Therein lies your mistake. You must become aware of all things equally and not blinker yourself in order to concentrate on a particular subject. This is an essential lesson, and until you master it, you will meditate on the stump for an hour each day."

"How will I know when I have mastered it?"

"When you can watch one and know all."

Oromis motioned for Eragon to join him at the table, then set a fresh sheet of paper before him, along with a quill and a bottle of ink. "So far you have made do with an incomplete knowledge of the ancient language. Not that any of us knows all the words in the language, but you must be familiar with is grammar and structure so that you do not kill yourself through an incorrectly placed verb or similar mistake. I do not expect you to speak our language like an elf – that would take a lifetime – but I do expect you to achieve unconscious competence. That is, you must be able to use it without thinking.

"In addition, you must learn to read and write the ancient language. Not only will this help you memorize the words, it is an essential skill if you need to compose an especially long spell and you don't trust your memory, or if you find such a spell recorded and you want to use it.

"Every race has evolved their own system of writing the ancient language. The dwarves use their runic alphabet, as do humans. They are only makeshift techniques, though, and are incapable of expressing the language's true subtleties as well as our Liduen Kvaedhi, the Poetic Script. The Luduen Kvaedhi was designed to be as elegant, beautiful, and precise as possible. It is composed of forty-two different shapes that represent various sounds. These shapes can be combined in a nearly infinite range of glyphs that represent both individual words and entire phrases. The symbol on your ring is one such glyph. The symbol on Zar'roc is another… Let us start: What are the basic vowel sounds of the ancient language?"

"What?"

Eragon's ignorance of the underpinnings of the ancient language quickly became apparent. When he had traveled with Brom, the old storyteller had concentrated on having Eragon memorize lists of words that he might need to survive, as well as perfecting his pronunciation. In those two areas, he excelled, but he could not even explain the difference between a definite and indefinite article. If the gaps in his education frustrated Oromis, the elf did not betray it through word or action, but labored persistently to mend them.

At a certain point during the lesson, Eragon commented, "I've never needed very many words in my spells; Brom said it was a gift that I could do so much with just _brisingr. _I think the most I ever said in the ancient language was when I spoke to Arya in her mind and when I blessed an orphan in Farthen Dûr."

"You blessed a child in the ancient language?" asked Oromis, suddenly alert. "Do you remember how you worded this blessing?"

"Aye," he said slowly. Mark had had a similar reaction when he'd mentioned it before as well.

"Recite it for me." Eragon did so, and a look of pure horror engulfed Oromis. He exclaimed, "You used _skölir__!_ Are you sure? Wasn't it _skölir_o?"

Eragon frowned. "No, _skölir._ Why shouldn't I have used it? _S__kölir_means _shielded_. '…and may you be shielded from misfortune.' It was a good blessing."

"That was no blessing, but a curse." Oromis was more agitated than Eragon had ever seen him. "The suffix _o_ forms the past tense of verbs ending with _r _and _i. S__kölir_o means _shielded_, but _skölir_ means _shield._ What you said was 'May luck and happiness follow you and may you be a_ shield_ from misfortune.' Instead of protecting this child from the vagaries of fate, you condemned her to be a sacrifice for others, to absorb their misery and suffering so that they might live in peace."

_No, no! It can't be!_ Eragon recoiled from the possibility. "The effect a spell has isn't only determined by the word's sense, but also by your intent, and I didn't intend to harm-"

"You cannot gainsay a word's inherent nature. Twist it, yes. Guide it, yes. But not contravene its definition to imply the very opposite." Oromis pressed his fingers together and stared at the table, his lips reduced to a flat white line. "I will trust that you did _not_ mean to harm, else I would refuse to teach you further. If you were honest and your heart was pure, then this blessing may cause less evil than I fear, though it will still be the nucleus of more pain than either of us could wish."

Violent trembling overtook Eragon as he realized what he had done to the child's life. "It may not undo my mistake," he said, "but perhaps it will alleviate it; Saphira marked the girl on the brow, just like she marked my palm with the gedwëy ignasia."

For the first time in his life, Eragon witnessed an elf dumbstruck. Oromis's gray eyes widened, his mouth open, and he clutched the arms of his chair until the wood groaned with protest. "One who bears the sign of the Riders, and yet is not a Rider," he murmured. "In all my years, I have never met anyone such as the two of you. Every decision you make seems to have an impact far beyond what anyone could anticipate. You change the world with your whims."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Neither, it just is. Where is the babe now?"

It took a moment for Eragon to compose his thoughts. "With the Varden, either in Farthen Dur or Surda. Do you think that Saphira's mark will help her?"

"I know not," said Oromis. "No precedent exists to draw upon for wisdom."

"There must be ways to remove the blessing, to negate a spell." Eragon was almost pleading.

"There are. But for them to be most effective, you should be the one to apply them, and you cannot be spared here. Even under the best of circumstances, remnants of your magic will haunt this girl evermore. Such is the power of the ancient language." He paused. "I see that you understand the gravity of the situation, so I will say this only once: you bear full responsibility for this girl's doom, and, because of the wrong you did her, it is incumbent upon you to help her if ever the opportunity should arise. By the Riders' law, she is your shame as surely as if you had begotten her out of wedlock, a disgrace among humans, if I remember correctly."

"Aye," whispered Eragon. "I understand." _I understand that I forced a defenseless baby to pursue a certain destiny without ever giving her a choice in the matter. Can someone be truly good if they never have the opportunity to act badly? I made her a slave_. He also knew that if he had been bound in that manner without permission, he would hate his jailer with every fiber of his being.

"Then we will speak of this no more."

"Yes, Ebrithil."

Eragon was still subdued, even depressed, by the end of the day. He barely looked up when they went outside to meet Saphira and Glaedr upon their return. The trees shook from the fury of the gale that the two dragons created with their wings. Saphira seemed proud of herself; she arched her neck and pranced toward Eragon, opening her chops in a lupine grin.

A stone cracked under Glaedr's eight as the ancient dragon turned a giant eye – as large as a dinner plate – on Eragon and asked, _What are the rules three to spotting downdrafts, and the rules five for escaping them?_

Startled out of his reverie, Eragon could only blink dumbly. "I don't know."

Then Oromis confronted Saphira and asked, "What creatures do ants farm, and how to they extract food from them?"

_I wouldn't know, _declared Saphira. She sounded affronted.

A gleam of anger leaped into Oromis's eyes and he crossed his arms, though his expression remained calm. "After all the two of you have done together, I would think that you had learned the most basic lesion of being Shur'tugal: Share everything with your partner. Would you cut off your right arm? Would you fly with only one wing? Never. Then why would you ignore the bond that links you? By doing so, you reject your greatest gift and your advantage over any single opponent. Nor should you just talk to each other with our minds, but mingle your consciousnesses until you act and think as one. I expect both of you to know what either one of you is taught."

"What about our privacy?" objected Eragon.

_Privacy?_ Said Glaedr. _Keep your thoughts to thyself when you leave here, if it pleases you, but while we tutor you, you have no privacy._

Eragon looked at Saphira, feeling even worse than before. She avoided his gaze, then stamped a food and faced him directly. _What?_

_They're right. We have been negligent._

_It's not my fault._

_I didn't say that it was. _She had guessed his opinion, though. He resented the attention she lavished on Glaedr and how it drew her away from him. _We'll do better, won't we?_

_Of course! _She snapped.

She declined to offer Oromis and Glaedr an apology, though, leaving the task to Eragon. "We won't disappoint you again."

"See that you don't. You will be tested tomorrow on what the other learned." Oromis revealed around wood bauble nestled in the middle of his palm. "So long as you take care to wind it regularly, this device will wake you at the proper time each morning. Return here as soon as you have bathed and eaten."

The bauble was surprisingly heavy when Eragon took it. The size of a walnut, it had been carved with deep whorls around a knob wrought in the likeness of a moss-rose blossom. He turned the knob experimentally and heard three clicks as a hidden ratchet advanced. "Thank you," he said.

* * *

Thorn landed heavily behind Nasreen and Andrar, lowering his neck to allow Murtagh off. _We certainly aren't getting in there. _The doorway was half smashed shut and what remained was small. _At least, not without tearing away what remains of the rubble. I suggest we take a quick flight around to see if there's anything amiss before you head inside._

"_Good idea." _He said, "Why don't the dragons take a fly around first?"

Kieran looked towards him and nodded, "Probably not a bad idea. This place is a bit unsettling." Her hair was ruffled as the dragons took flight, splitting off to search around some before returning unscathed.

_Nothing particularly unexpected, considering everything, _Thorn insisted. _We'll remain alert while you go on ahead. Call if you need us._

Murtagh patted his nose a bit before tightening his sword on his hip and heading for the door, the girls following up behind him. When the inside of the tunnel proved too dark, Mariah muttered under her breath until a small ball of fire floated above her head. He smiled a bit, trying not to mention how funny she looked, "Thanks." He turned his eyes back ahead again and continued.

After a few minutes of walking, Kieran suddenly halted, staring at the ground.

"What is it now?" He asked, turning to look at her.

"There's going to be skeletons all over the place."

He blinked, "Probably. There was a fight here during the Rider War; I'm assuming they didn't drag everyone's body out of here…"

She visibly shivered and hugged herself, squeaking as Mariah and Murtagh took off again ahead of her, nearly tripping as she hurried to catch up.

"Yes, she'll tear into any living thing without a care, get blood spattered all over her but throw a few bones at her and she's terrified." Murtagh said, chuckling. "Why did you wear heels again, Kieran?" He asked, listening to them click against the stone floor occasionally.

"These are my riding boots."

"I'd forgotten. I'm sorry." He said, turning his head at the split in the hallway. "Well… which way now?"

"Left." Kieran said, eyeing up another skull sitting atop a spike to their right.

Murtagh headed that way and listened to the creaking noises of old wood as the wind blew into the fortress. When something would snap, dried up dirt would sift through the cracks. He glanced at the ceiling once in a while, unsure if it would hold while they were underneath it. As they rounded yet another corner, they came to a dead end, the hall filled to the top with rubble. Murtagh looked around for a moment, trying to see if they could shift any of it, "Not without caving this whole place in, we're going to have to head the other way."

Kieran huffed and turned around, jumping as a rat squealed up at her. "_Brisingr!"_ She threw out her hand and fried it with a quick burst of fire. The charred carcass twitched once and she kicked it away. She turned and saw them staring at her. "What?"

"…remind me never to jump out and scare you." He said, pushing past her, heading back the other way.

When they arrived back at the spiked skull, Kieran huffed. "Maybe I should go check outside."

"If you want to leave, be my guest Kieran, you're probably scaring the sword off with all your shrieking." He said, looking over at the princess. "I'm sure Mariah and I can handle whatever's lying ahead: probably more dead people."

She pursed her lips, as if actually thinking about it before shaking her head and walking ahead of him. "I'll come with, you watch, I'll be perfectly fine-" She squeaked again as she tripped, slamming onto the floor and looking up at a decaying, yet fleshy, skull. Her scream echoed for minutes in the hallway after she stopped. He walked over, pulling her back onto her feet.

"You need new riding boots." He insisted, holding onto her wrist and walking with her down the hall, glancing at Mariah who was just smiling and shaking her head.

At the end of twenty minutes, they arrived at yet another dead end.

"How the hell are we supposed to find anything if the entire place is boarded up like this?" Kieran asked.

Mariah looked around a moment before glancing at her fireball, which was flickering slightly above her. "There's a draft…" she looked towards the wall and walked over, pressing her hand against the stone. "This section moves… look, you can see where it separates… there must be a switch or something. Help me look."

Kieran stood in the middle of the room, looking around warily as they searched. Finally Murtagh reached around a fallen rafter and pulled a chain down, listening to the doorway shift and open.

"I'm not going down there." The princess said adamantly.

"Then you're staying here by yourself." He insisted, heading down the staircase, Mariah on his heels. After they had vanished from sight, he could hear her following hurriedly behind them. At the foot of the stairs, they came upon an open hall, littered with tables and chairs. "It's like the whole place collapsed during the battle, everything's practically intact."

"Just a whole level down," Mariah added, looking past him. "Let's find the sword. It seems like a Rider would have defended from air, but if they were trapped down here then the sword could have easily fallen into a crevice or something."

"We'll just have to keep looking," he insisted, heading into the room. Kieran followed behind Mariah, crawling out of her skin at the skeletal figures littering the room. Swords, axes and lances impaling some, cracking into others' skulls, all in all it was a little unsettling. They preceded to yet another doorway without much delay.

In this hall, there were lit torches. Murtagh froze and stared at them. "Someone's been here recently." He put a hand on his sword, able to hear someone talking up ahead. He drew his bow and knocked an arrow, creeping around the corner before glaring back at Kieran. "Stay still, everyone will hear you coming." She blinked at him and stopped moving. He sighed inwardly and turned back, looking around the corner and seeing nothing. Lowering his bow a bit, he advanced and narrowed his eyes.

The muttering was coming from a hooded figure hunched over a table. A burnt smell hung in the air. He strained his ears and listened. The muttering was repetitive, a chanting rhythm. He glanced between the flickering candles and stared as unnatural wind began blowing. From behind him he heard one of the girls gasp before the bow was ripped from his hands.

Mariah drew back the bow and shot them in the back. A hiss and they turned around, shouting inaudibly with a hand pointed towards them. Feral creatures swept towards them from the darkness. Murtagh drew his sword and blinked as a wolf chomped down on the blade, biting rapidly; chewing on what he hoped was flesh. He stared at the creature for a moment, dumbfounded. Its eyes were bleeding and fur was missing in clumps along his body. In some places, bones were exposed. As it turned its face, the skin around its left jaw was missing entirely, showing off the sharpened teeth along its mouth.

Twisting, he stabbed downward, pinning its head to the ground. It was still squirming and trying to bite at him, the attack not so much as startling it. Why should it? The creature was already dead. He glanced at Kieran who was throwing fire at a group of un-dead birds. Mariah was already pinioned by a larger wolf. He left his sword in the wolf's skull and rushed over, knocking the animal back with a burst of magic, "Thrysta!" It slammed back into a wall, breaking its back leg. He watched as it stood back up, and then crouched low, ready to attack again.

Murtagh turned his gaze back to the person standing by the table. He snatched Mariah's sword and rushed toward them, slashing into their chest, spurting blood all over himself and the wall. She fell to the ground, clutching her wound and trying to heal herself. After a few struggling moments, the woman fell still. The scratching and growling coming from the wolf Murtagh had pinned ceased, the flapping wings of feral birds stopped as they dropped from the air and the wolf that had since resumed mauling Mariah fell into a heap onto her chest.

He hurried back to her, shoving the animal off and looking her over for wounds. She coughed and sat up slowly, holding onto her left arm, the one she'd been using to shield herself.

Kieran walked past them, ignoring the scratches and bits of missing flesh from her arms and face, walking to the table and stabbing downward with her dagger, jerking it to the side with finality. Her eyes were wide as she stared. "…as daring as my father is, he usually doesn't delve into necromancy like this." She stood up straighter again and looked at Murtagh.

Pulling Mariah to her feet, holding onto her, he asked, "What do you mean?"

"This… witch…" she spat, "was practicing necromancy. Somehow managing to breathe life into the dead. Those animals had been killed before… and so had he." She motioned to the table where her dagger was sticking out of a young man's chest. "I wonder where her research notes are…"

He stared at her as she began digging around the room. "You're kidding me right Kieran… we're here to find a Rider's blade, not a recipe for resurrecting the dead."

"Father would be pleased if we brought something like this back to him. Besides, we can't just leave it lying around here." Kieran said, "Besides, I already found the sword." Murtagh watched her pick up the sword from the table. "She must have been using the energy stored in it to help with her resurrection process… pretty clever really."

"Alright, can we go now? I think Mariah needs some serious help and this dark dungeon is not the place to do it in." He said, stabilizing her as she swayed in his grip. Murtagh winced and picked her up, carrying her back down the hallway. Kieran looked around the room quickly, snatching up everything she could find and jamming it in the witch's bag before running after him.

* * *

Brisingr- Fire

Thrysta – Thrust

It's kinda long… isn't it? Eh, you deserve long, since I can't seem to get you guys a chapter a week.

…Murtagh must become better. It makes me sad when people don't like Murtagh, as Murtagh is awesome. Ergo, Mariah's normal section is Murtagh's, this time. Hopefully it helped. And I liked trying to put it in his mind instead of hers, it was a fun change.

I skipped over the part about the ants with Eragon… really, we're going to read about ants for three pages? I think not.

Kieran is afraid of skeletons. Mariah has nightmares. Kendra is missing. Mark went to the Black Palace. Eragon stared at ants. Murtagh killed some un-dead stuff.

All in all I'd say this was a fun day.

With Love, As Always,

Mariah


	19. Ch 59: Augury in the Night-Time

**Chapter Fifty-Nine: Augury in the Night-Time**

After Eragon and Saphira had said their farewells, they flew back to their tree house with Saphira's new saddle dangling between her front claws. Without acknowledging the fact, they gradually opened their minds and allowed their connections to widen and deepen, though neither of them consciously reached for the other. Eragon's tumultuous emotions must have been strong enough for Saphira to sense anyway, though, she asked, _What happened, then?_

A throbbing pain built up behind his eyes as he explained the terrible crime he had committed in Farthen Dur. Saphira was as appalled by it as he was. He said, _Your gift may help that girl, but what I did is inexcusable and will only hurt her._

_The blame isn't all yours. I share your knowledge of the ancient language, and I didn't spot the error any more than you did. _When Eragon remained silent, she added, _At least your back didn't cause you any trouble today. Be grateful for that._

He grunted, unwilling to be tempted out of his black mood. _And what did you learn this fine day?_

_How to identify and avoid dangerous weather patterns. _She paused, apparently ready to share the memories with him, but he was too busy worrying about his distorted blessing to inquire further. Nor could he bear the thought to being so intimate right then. Whenhe did not pursue the matter, Saphira withdrew into a taciturn silence.

Back in their bedroom, he found a tray of food by the screen door, as he had the previous night. Carrying the tray to his bed – which had been remade with fresh linens – he settled down to eat, cursing the lack of meat. Already sore from the Rimgar, he propped himself up with pillows and was about to take his first bite when there came a gentle rapping at the opening to his chamber. "Enter," he growled. He took a drink of water.

Eragon nearly choked as Arya stepped through the doorway. She had abandoned the leather clothes usually wore in favor of a soft green tunic cinched at the waist with a girdle adorned with moonstones. She had also removed her customary headband, allowing her hair to tumble around her face and over her shoulders. The biggest change, however, was not so much in her dress but her bearing; the brittle tension that had permeated her demeanor ever since Eragon first met her was now gone.

She seemed to have finally relaxed.

He scrambled to his feet, noticing that her own were bare. "Arya! Why are you here?"

Touching her first two fingers to her lips, she said, "Do you plan on spending another evening inside?"

"I-"

"You have been in Ellesméra for three days now, if and yet you have seen nothing of our city. I know that you always wished to explore it. Set aside you weariness this once and accompany me." Gliding toward him, she took Zar'roc from where it lay by his side and beckoned to him.

He rose from the bed and followed her into the vestibule, Where they descended through the trap door and down the precipitous staircase that wound around the rough tree trunk. Overhead, the gathering clouds glowed with the sun's last rays before it was extinguished by the edge of the world.

A piece of bark fell on Eragon's head and he looked up to see Saphira leaning out of their bedroom, gripping the wood with her claws. Without opening her wings, she sprang into the air and dropped the hundred or so feet to the ground, landing in a thunderous cloud of dirt. _I'm coming. _

"Of course," said Arya, as if she expected nothing less. Eragon scowled; he had wanted to be alone with her, but he knew better than to complain.

They walked under the trees, where dusk already extended its tendrils from inside hollow logs, dark crevices in boulders, in the underside of knobby eaves. Here and there, a gemlike lantern twinkled within the side of a tree or at the end of a branch, casting gentle pools of light on either side of the path.

Elves worked on various projects in and around the lanterns' radius, solitary except for a few, rare couples. Several elves set high in the trees, playing mellifluous tunes on their reed pipes, while others stared at the sky with peaceful expressions – neither awake nor asleep. One elf sat cross-legged before a pottery wheel that whirled around and round with a steady rhythm while a delicate urn took form beneath his hands. The werecat, Maud, crouched beside him in the shadows watching his progress. Her eyes flared silver as she looked at Eragon and Saphira. The elf followed her gaze and nodded to them without halting his work.

Through the trees, Eragon glimpsed an elf – man or woman, he could not tell – squatting on a rock in the middle of a stream, muttering a spell over the orb of glass clutched in its hands. He twisted his neck in an attempt to get an unobstructed view, but the spectacle had already vanished into the dark.

"What," asked Eragon, keeping his voice low so as to not disturb anyone, "do most elves do for a living or profession?"

Arya answered just as quietly. "Our strength with magic grants us as much leisure as we desire. We neither hunt nor farm, and, as a result, we spend our days working to master our interests, whatever they might be. Very little exists that we must strive for."

Through a tunnel of dogwood draped with creepers, they entered the enclosed atrium of a house grown out of a ring of trees. An open-walled hut occupied the center of the atrium, which sheltered a forge and an assortment of tools that Eragon knew even Horst would covet.

An elf woman held a pair of small tongs in a nest of molten coals, working bellows with her right hand. With uncanny speed, she pulled the tongs from the fire – revealing a ring of white-hot steel clamped in the pincers' jaws – looped the ring through the edge of an incomplete mail corselet hung over the anvil, grasped a hammer, and welded shut the open ends of the ring with a blow and a burst of sparks.

Only then did Arya approach. "Atra esterní ono thelduin."

The elf faced them, her neck and cheek lit from underneath by the coals' bloody light. Like taut wires embedded in her skin, her face was scribed with a delicate pattern of lines – the greatest display of age Eragon had seen in an elf. She gave no response to Arya, which he knew was offensive and discourteous, especially since the queen's daughter had honored her by speaking first.

"Rhunön-elda, I have brought you the newest Rider, Eragon Shadeslayer."

"I heard you were dead," said Rhunön to Arya. Rhunön's voice guttered and rasped unlike any other elf's. It reminded Eragon of the old men of Carvahall who sat on the porches outside of their houses, smoking pipes and telling stories.

Arya smiled. "When did you last leave your house, Rhunön?"

"You should know. It was that Midsummer's Feast you forced me to attend."

"That was three years ago."

"Was it?" Rhunön frowned as she banked the coals and covered them with a grated lid. "Well, what of it? I find company trying. A gaggle of meaningless chatter that…" She glared at Arya. "Why are we speaking this foul language? I suppose you want me to forge a sword for him? You know I swore to never create instruments of death again, not after that traitor of a Rider and the destruction he wreaked with my blade."

"Eragon already has a sword," said Arya. She raised her arm and presented Zar'roc to the smith."

Rhunön took Zar'roc with a look of wonder. She caressed the wine-red sheath, lingered on the black symbol etched into it, rubbed a bit of dirt from the hilt, then wrapped her fingers around the handle and drew the sword with all the authority of a warrior. She sighted down each of Zar'roc's edges and flexed the blade between her hands until Eragon feared it might break. Then, in a single movement, Rhunön swung Zar'roc over her head and brought it down on the tongs on her anvil, riving them in half with a resounding ring.

"Zar'roc," said Rhunön. "I remember thee." She cradled the weapon like a mother would her firstborn. "As perfect as the day you were finished." Turning her back, she looked up at the knotted branches while she traced the curves of the pommel. "My entire life I spent hammering these swords out of ore. Then _he _came and destroyed them. Centuries of effort obliterated in an instant. So far as I knew, only four examples of my art still existed. _His_ sword, Oromis's, and two others guarded by families who managed to rescue them from the Wyrdfell."

_Wyrdfell?_ Eragon dared ask Arya with his mind.

_Another name for the Forsworn._

Rhunön turned on Eragon. "Now Zar'roc has returned to me. Of call my creations, this I least expected to hold again, save for _his_. How came you to possess Morzan's sword?"

"It was given to me by Brom."

"Brom?" She hefted Zar'roc. "Brom… I remember Brom. He begged me to replace the sword he had lost. Truly, I wished to help him, but I had already taken my oath. My refusal angered him beyond reason. Oromis had to knock him unconscious before he would leave."

Eragon seized on the information with interest. "Your handiwork has served me well, Rhunön-elda. I would be long dead were it not for Zar'roc. I killed the Shade Durza with it."

"Did you now? Then some good has come of it." Sheathing Zar'roc, Rhunön returned it to him, though not without reluctance, then looked past him to Saphira. "Ah. Well met, Skulblaka."

_Well met, Rhunön-elda._

Without bothering to ask permission, Rhunön went up to Saphira's shoulder and tapped on a scale with one of her blunt fingernails, twisting her head from side to side in an attempt to peer into the translucent pebble. "Good color. Not like those brown dragons, all muddy and dark. Properly speaking, a Rider's sword should match the hue of his dragon, and this blue would have made a gorgeous blade…" The thought seemed to drain the energy from her. She returned to the anvil and stared at the wrecked tongs, as if the will to replace them had deserted her.

Eragon felt that it would be wrong to end the conversation on such a depressing note, but he could not think of a tactful way to change the subject. The glimmering corselet caught his attention and, as he studied it, he was astonished to see that every ring with welded shut. Because the tiny links cooled so quickly, they usually had to be welded before being attached to the main piece of mail, which meant that the finest mail – such as Eragon's hauberk – was composed of links that were alternately welded and riveted closed. Unless, it seemed, the smith possessed an elf's speed and precision.

Eragon said, "I've never seen the equal of your mail, not even among the dwarves. How do you have the patience to weld every link? Why don't you just use magic and save yourself the work?"

He hardy expected the burst of passion that animated Rhunön. She tossed her short-cropped hair and said, "And rob myself of all pleasure in this task? Aye, every other elf and I could use magic to satisfy our desires – and some do – but then what meaning is there in life? How would you fill your time? Tell me."

"I don't know," he confessed.

"By pursuing that which you love the most. When you can have anything you want by uttering a few words, the goal matters not, only the journey to it. A lesson for you. You'll face the same dilemma one day, if you live long enough… Now begone! I am weary of this talk." With that Rhunön plucked the lid off the forge, retrieved a new pair of tongs, and immersed a ring in the coals while she worked the bellows with single-minded intensity.

"Rhunön-elda," said Arya, "remember, I will return for you on the eve of the Agaetí Blödhren." A grunt was her only reply.

The rhythmic peal of steel on steel, as lonely as the cry of a death bird in the night, accompanied them back through the dogwood tunnel and onto the path. Behind them, Rhunön was no more than a black figure bowed over the sullen glow of her forge.

"She made all the Riders' swords?" asked Eragon. "Every last one?"

"That and more. She's the greatest smith who has ever lived. I thought that you should meet her, for her sake and yours."

"Thank you."

_Is she always so bruque?_ asked Saphira

Arya laughed. "Always. For her, nothing matters expect her craft, and she's famously impatient with anything – or anyone – that interferes with it. Her eccentricities are well tolerated, though, because of her incredible skill and accomplishments."

While she spoke, Eragon tried to work out the meaning of _Agaetí Blödhren_. He was fairly sure that _blödh_ stood for _blood_ and, as a result, that _blödhren_ was _blood-oath,_ but he and never heard of _agate__í_.

"_Celebration,_" explained Arya when he asked. "We hold the Blood-oath Celebration once every century to honor our pact with the dragons. Both of you are fortunate to be here now, for it is nigh upon us…" Her slanted eyebrows met as she frowned. "Fate has indeed arranged a most auspicious coincidence."

* * *

"There you are," he smiled at her, sitting back on his heels. "I was getting a little worried; you've been out for quite some time…"

Mariah sat up gingerly, looking around, "Where's Kieran?"

"Hunting something down for dinner last I knew," he admitted, brushing her hair back. "You're feeling better?"

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you," she said.

"Well good. Andrar was insisting that you were fine, but I was waiting to see for myself." He helped her to her feet and watched as she dusted off her pants.

She looked around for a moment, "Did we fly back?" Mariah asked as he tended to the fire.

He swore under his breath as a hot spark hit his finger, "Yes. Kieran thought it best, considering our timeline. We're due back tomorrow morning."

"Of course," she said, trying her best to keep the bitter tone out of her voice. Andrar snorted at her, tucking his nose under his forepaw to avoid chuckling. "Are we going to be on time?"

"As long as that storm doesn't get any closer, yes."

She turned her gaze upward and narrowed toward the east, where dark storm clouds were looming. Behind her the bushes rustled and Kieran stepped out of the forest, dropping a small wild boar onto the ground next to Murtagh. He exchanged glances with the princess, who sniffed a bit and walked over to Nasreen, leaving him to prep their food.

Mariah shook her head a bit and went to sit next to him, keeping him company while they waited. Her eyes lingered on the storm clouds as she leaned against Andrar's scales, twisting the fabric of her torn tunic between her fingers. When offered food, she refocused her attention and smiled slightly, eating quietly while the other two talked about how tomorrow would likely end up going. Finally, the darkness settled in, leaving them only with the option of sleeping.

As her senses succumbed to the night, she felt herself slipping into an uneasy sleep. It started out black, like every other night, and gradually progressed into something darker. Her first flicker of a thought was to wake herself back up, but she'd already placed a silencing ward upon herself, and the dream wouldn't end until she started it.

_The sky was black with an oncoming storm and the grim drizzle was frigid on her skin. This time, she was in the castle courtyard. She was alone and walking with her arms folded across her chest in a pathetic attempt to keep herself warm. The blood red skirts she wore were dragging the ground behind her, collecting mud as the rain splattered up her boots. _

Her breathing hitched a few times, but stayed asleep, able to hear thunderclaps in the distance as the storm rolled by.

_A horse whinnied from ahead and, when she lifted her gaze, saw a white mare stamping in the puddles. Aluora. She hurried over and brushed her fingers over her nose. She scrambled onto her back and turned her around, rushing the gate to leave. With no guards around to stop them, they surged away from the castle with all the speed the horse could muster. As soon as the castle was out of sight, digging her hooves into the muddy road the mare reared up onto her hind legs, whinnying loudly as another thunderclap sounded overhead. Mariah gripped a handful of her mane, but soon found herself thrown off the she-horse, and coated with mire. _

The jolt woke her for a moment before she twisted and curled back up against Andrar's warm stomach, hoping to relieve some of the fright.

_She looked up to see what had startled the bold mare and saw a group of dragons blocking the road with Riders atop their backs. Though their faces were shadowed, she could have named them all without difficulty. Camille drew her rapier, stepping down from the dragon she was saddled in, walking over to her without hesitation. Her brother, Cederic, jumped off his mount and followed her, the blade in his hand already dripping with blood. The rapier tapped against Mariah's neck, forcing her to lift her face up. _

She sat straight up this time; her lips parted with a scream, and would have woken the other two, if not for the ward upon herself. Mariah blinked, rubbing her eyes and tried to collect her thoughts, when her eyes wouldn't stay open any longer however, she was forced to lie back down and resubmit herself to her nightmares.

_Camille's brown eyes met her own for a fleeting moment before a flash of silver blocked her view. The woman stepped back to retrieve her rapier, glaring toward Kieran as she stepped in front of Mariah. With a loud thud, Thorn dropped to the ground beside Nasreen, Murtagh rushing to Kieran's side with his own hand-and-a-half sword drawn, staring down Cederic. The rain slid down their profiles, dripping from the tip of Kieran's nose, and gliding down Murtagh's jawline as they stood in front of her, shielding her from the others. She sat on the ground, covered with mud, watching as they gazed at one another, waiting for the fight to start. _

Mariah woke up to prodding from a boot at her back. She blinked her eyes a few times, the sun rising up behind Kieran blinding her for a moment, before staring blearily up at the princess.

"Glad to see you're finally awake. Let's get going, before we're late." Kieran said, climbing atop Nasreen.

* * *

"Well, if you ask me they should have been back by now." She insisted, looking over her nails.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch Camille," Cederic said. "I'm sure they'll be back soon enough."

"I don't really want them to. I hope they fail their little quest to be honest. Pathetic really, I mean, why send all three of them out together? Surely one would have been enough. I probably could have found it on my own."

The main room for the southeastern wing of the castle was spacious enough for all six of them to sit comfortably. It was vastly over decorated, with heavy drapes surrounding the multitude of windows overlooking the courtyards. Normally, the area was reserved for guests visiting the castle on business of some sort, since their arrival however, they had each been given residency of a room adjacent to one another. When not training or sleeping, they spent most of their time waiting in the main room.

The open fireplace was crackling with a magic-infused fire that Innes had started before going to the large table against the wall where several books were sprawled out on top of maps, quills and other bits of parchment. He was leaning over to read out of a leather-bound journal while scribbling with his left hand, half listening to the rest of them bickering. Innes didn't bother sparing her a glance, "Oh yes, we all know Camille. You would have been there and back in just half an hour, because you're so much better than Kieran at everything you set your mind to."

"Thank you Innes," she smiled brilliantly. He paused, blinked, and rolled his eyes, turning the page in the book he was reading. Camille's fur-cuffed coattails were dripping off the sides of the chair she was sitting in, one leg crossed perfectly over the other, balanced on the edge of her seat. The heel of her boots tapered down into a point that made it appear like they would likely break if she stood too hard on them. Tossing back her long brown hair she looked over towards Odette sitting idly in the windowsill, staring outside.

"Let's hope they do come back Camille, otherwise you'll be forced to train with us rather than Kieran. It would be a shame to let all your talent go to waste sparring with us day in and day out, wouldn't it?" Hal asked running his finger over his knife, watching his blood pool to the surface of his skin. He flipped the knife in his hand once before shooting it across the room into a wooden shield Cederic had hung on the wall. He smirked at the other boy as the knife landed nearly dead center.

She turned her gaze back towards him, paused a moment to think, and then nodded, "You do have a good point there." Her eyes watched Cederic throw another dagger deep into the wooden shield and clapped for him gingerly.

"You don't have to wonder about them any longer, they're back now." Odette said as she gazed out the window. Picking up her skirts to stand, she headed toward the door to meet them. Camille blinked and stood as well, striding after the girl with the three boys on her heel.

* * *

"Back on time I see."

"Yes father," Kieran said, bowing to him quickly before retrieving the second Rider's sword at her waist and offering it to him.

Galbatorix took the blade, looking over the hilt and tapping into its power for a few moments, looking solemn for a moment. He turned his gaze back to Kieran and nodded, pleased. "Good, and you had no trouble I see."

"None," she insisted. "There is, however the matter of the necromancy I found that I am eager to share with you." Her eyes flickered to the other riders walking into the throne room. "In private, if possible."

He nodded again and beckoned her to follow, proceeding into his study. The riders standing in the doorway turned their gaze to Murtagh and Mariah questioningly.

"Well, stop gawking like a bunch of dumb ducklings," she said, shaking her head at them. "

"We just wanted to know how your trip went," Camilla said, heading the pack. She tossed her hair over her shoulder as she walked over to Mariah. "Seems to me like you had a rough time of it, considering the state you're in."

Mariah paused and looked down at herself briefly, realizing how tattered and torn her clothes were. She huffed a little at the older girl and turned towards the staircase, heading up to her room, leaving Camilla with the satisfaction of having run her off. She ran her fingers along the wall as she walked to her room, pausing only momentarily when she heard someone behind her. She sighed and turned slightly, "I'll be fine, just let me go change, alright?"

"You don't look fine." His gray eyes stared at her through his blond bangs.

She blinked at Pearce and watched him warily for a moment. He hadn't been in the throne room a few minutes ago. "Are you following me?"

"Not really," he said. "I can only take so much of Camilla's voice before I have to leave the room. I was on my way back from the kitchen when I saw you'd returned."

"Just a moment ago actually."

He nodded. "As I said before, you don't look fine."

"I will be. It was a difficult trip."

"I see, well," he reached into the pocket of his worn leather jacket and tossed an apple to her. "You're probably hungry."

She caught the apple and blinked at him, "Thank you."

Pearce nodded again and continued down the hall to his room. Mariah waited a minute for him to leave before continuing down the hall. She reached her room, locking the door behind her. Once safely inside, she quickly stripped her clothes, checking over her wounds to make sure they were all healing properly before changing into more suitable attire. Mariah glanced in the mirror and ran her fingers over her face, rubbing under her eyes where dark circles had formed from her lack of sleep the night prior.

"Why do I always look so tired now?" She muttered, glancing at the apple on her dresser, snatching it up and going to her bookshelf. Tracing a finger over the spines for a few moments she finally pulled a thick volume down and returned to her bed, opening it to the middle and reading as she chomped down on the red piece of fruit.

* * *

"Kendra!"

She flicked her gaze through the trees, honing in on where the voice was coming from. "Damn them. They know better than to come after us like this." Nyx growled a little from beside her. She turned, stepping through the shallow river and to the other side, taking off at a brisk trot, hoping to lose them. "They'll get tired of looking eventually, huh?" She looked down at the wolf and smiled.

With her bow strapped to her back, she slipped through the woods, startling a small herd of deer and scattering them like leaves on a windy autumn morning. Her gaze turned forwards as she heard the water rushing louder. She smirked and stopped on the edge of the cliff, sitting with her legs dangling over the edge. Nyx slipped over and sat beside her, lying down after a moment and setting his head on her lap.

Overlooking the landscape below as the sun reached its highest point for the day, she hummed quietly to herself, finding the rushing waterfall beside her calming. Her fingers stroked through Nyx's fur slowly, feeling his heart beating through his chest. Surda's view was a thousand times more beautiful than Urû'baen ever had been. If it had been before the war, she wasn't sure, but she could hardly imagine something as open and awe-inspiring as this spot was at the moment.

"I guess I don't need to call in the search party." Her eyes closed slowly as she heard his voice, turning her head a bit as Mark walked over to her. "We've been looking for you all morning."

"Did the thought ever occur to you that I don't want to be found?" She asked. Nyx growled up at them.

He smiled, "Of course. I told them to leave it well enough alone, but they were insistent." Mark stretched a bit, "Took me long enough though, you must be a great hunter. You barely left any trail to follow."

"Your compliments are useless, I'll have you know." Kendra told him. "I know I'm a good hunter, probably one of the best. I'll track anything you want and find it in half as much time as anyone else you can think of."

Mark folded his arms, "Well then Huntress, would you mind finding the way to Rowan? We've been separated and I don't believe I can find him in this forest."

She stood and turned to look at him, "You should have just used magic, or have you forgotten you possess such talents?"

"My priority was finding you, not him. Now, if you please." He motioned for her to start ahead of him.

Shaking her head, Kendra walked past him, Nyx growling towards Mark as he followed. "He shouldn't be that difficult to find… where did you last see him?"

"In that split in the path, by that large boulder before you come to the stream," he said. "He suggested we part and look for you separately and I agreed."

She said nothing and turned north, trotting through the forest briskly and quickly coming upon the small path curving through the trees. Ahead, she could hear Rowan calling out for her. Rolling her eyes, she led them towards his voice. "He should know better than to go shouting for people who don't want to be found. I'm over here Rowan."

He twisted around and waved toward them, hustling over. "The others were getting worried about you."

"I'm sure they were, now let's head back, yes boys?" She rolled her eyes slightly and headed back towards Surda.

* * *

She surprised Eragon by leading them deeper into Du Weldenvarden, down paths tangled with nettles and currant bushes, until the lights around them vanished and they entered the restless wilderness. In the darkness, Eragon had to rely on Saphira's keen night vision so as to not lose his way. The craggy trees increased in width, crowding closer and closer together and threatening to form and impenetrable barrio. Just when it appeared that they could go no farther, the forest ended and they entered a clearing washed with moonlight form the bright sickle low in the eastern sky.

A lone pine tree stood in the middle of the clearing. No taller than the rest of its brethren, it was thicker than a hundred regular trees combined; in comparison, they looked as puny as windblown saplings. A blanket of roots radiated from the tree's massive trunk, covering the ground with bark-sheathed veins that made it seem as if the entire forest flowed out from the tree, as if it were the heart of Du Weldenvarden itself. The tree presided over the woods like a benevolent matriarch, protecting its inhabitants under the shelter of her branches.

"Behold the Menoa tree," whispered Arya. "We observe the Agaetí Blödhren in her shade."

A cold tingle crawled down Eragon's side as he recognized the name. After Angela told his fortune in Teirm, Solembum had come up to him and said, _When the time comes and you need a weapon, look under the roots of the Menoa tree. Then, when all seems lost and your power is insufficient, go to the rock of Kuthian and speak your name to open the Vault of Souls. _Eragon could not imagine what kind of weapon might be buried under the tree, nor how he would go about finding it.

_Do you see anything?_ He asked Saphira.

_No, but then I doubt that Solembum's words will make sense until our need is clear._

Eragon told Arya about both parts of the werecat's counsel, although – as he had with Ajihad and Islanzadí – he kept Angela's prophecy a secret because of its personal nature.

When he finished, Arya said, "Werecats rarely offer help, and when they do, it's not to be ignored. So far as I know, no weapon is hidden here, not even in song or legend. As for the Rock of Kuthian… the name echoes in my head like a voice from a half-forgotten dream, familiar yet strange. I've heard it before, though I cannot recall where."

As they approached the Menoa tree, Eragon's attention was caught by the multitude of ants crawling over the roots. Faint black smudges were all he could see of the insects, but Oromis's assignment had sensitized him to the currents of life around him, and he could feel the ants' primitive consciousness with his mind. He lowered his defenses and allowed his awareness to flood outward, lightly touching Saphira and Arya and then expanding beyond them to see what else lived in the clearing.

With unexpected suddenness, he encountered an immense entity, a sentient being of such a colossal nature, he could not grasp the limits of its psyche. Even Oromis's vast intellect, which Eragon had been in contact with in the Farthen Dûr, was dwarfed in comparison to this presence. The very air seemed to thrum with the energy and strength that emanated from…_ the tree?_

The source was unmistakable.

Deliberate and inexorable, the tree's thoughts moved at a measured pace as slow as the creep of ice over granite. It took no notice of Eragon nor, he was sure, of any single individual. It was entirely concerned with the affairs of things that grow and flourish in the bright sunlight, with the dogbane and the lily, the evening primrose and the silky foxglove and the yellow mustard tall beside the crabapple with its purple blossoms.

"It's awake!" exclaimed Eragon, shocked into speaking. "I mean… it's intelligent." He knew that Saphira felt it too; she cocked her head toward the Menoa tree, as if listening, then flew to one of its branches, which were as thick as the road from Carvahall to Therinsford. There she perched with her tail hanging free, waving the tip of it back and forth, ever so gracefully. It was such an odd sight, a dragon in a tree, that Eragon almost laughed.

"Of course she's awake," said Arya. Her voice was low and mellow in the night air. "Shall I tell you the story of the Menoa tree?"

"It'd like that."

A flash of white streaked across the sky, like a banished specter, and resolved itself beside Saphira in the form of Blagden. The raven's narrow shoulder and crooked neck gave him the appearance of a miser basking in the radiance of a pure of gold. The raven lifted his pallid head and uttered his ominous cry, _Wyrda!"_

"This is what happened. Once there lived a woman, Linnëa, in the years of spice and wine before our war with the dragons and before we became as immortal as any beings still composed of vulnerable flesh can be. Linnëa had grown old without the comfort of a mate or children, nor did she feel the need to seek them out, preferring to occupy herself with the art of singing to plants, of which she was a master. That is, she did until a young man came to her door and beguiled her with words of love. His affections woke a part of Linnëa that she had never suspected existed, a craving to experience the things that she had unknowingly sacrificed. The offer of a second chance was too great an opportunity for her to ignore. She deserted her work and devoted herself to the young man and, for a time, they were happy

"But the young man was young, and he began to long for a mate closer to his own age. His eyes fell upon a young woman, and he wooed and won her. And for a time, they too were happy.

"When Linnëa discovered that she had been spurned, scorned, and abandoned, she went mad with grief. The young man had done the worst possible thing; he had given her a taste of the fullness of life, then torn it away with no more thought than a rooster flitting from one hen to the next. She found him with the woman and, in her fury, she stabbed him to death.

"Linnëa knew that what she had done was evil. She also knew that even if she was exonerated of the murder, she could not return to her previous existence. Life had lost all joy for her. So she went to the oldest tree in Du Weldenvarden, pressed herself against it, and sang herself into the tree, abandoning all allegiance to her own race. For three days and three nights she sang, and when she finished, she had become one with her beloved plants. And through all the millennia since she has kept watch over the forest… Thus was the Menoa tree created."

At the conclusion of her tale, Arya and Eragon sat side by side on the crest of a huge root, twelve feet off the ground. Eragon bounced his heels against the tree and wondered if Arya had intended the story as a warning to him or if it was merely an innocent piece of history.

His doubt hardened into certainty when she asked, "Do you think that the young man was to blame for the tragedy?"

"I think," he said, knowing that a clumsy reply could turn her against him, "that what he did was cruel … and that Linnëa overreacted. They were both at fault.

Arya stared at him until he was forced to avert his gaze. "They weren't suited for each other."

Eragon began to deny it but then stopped himself. She was right. And she had maneuvered him so that he had to say it out loud, so that he had to say it to _her._ "Perhaps," he admitted.

Silence accumulated between them like sand piling into a wall that neither of them was willing to breach. The high-pitched hum of cicadas echoed from the edge of the clearing. At last he said, "Being home seems to agree with you."

"It does." With unconscious ease, she leaned over and picked up a thin branch that had fallen from the Menoa tree and began to weave the clips of needles into a small basket.

Hot blood rushed to Eragon's face as he watched her. He hoped that the moon was not bright enough to reveal that his cheeks hat turned mottled red. "Where… where do you live? Do you and Islanzadí have a palace or castle…?"

"We live in Tialdarí Hall, our family's ancestral buildings, in the western part of Ellesméra. I would enjoy showing our home to you."

"Ah." A practical question suddenly intruded in Eragon's muddled thoughts, driving away his embarrassment. "Arya, do you have any siblings?" She shook her head. "Then you are the sole heir to the elven throne?'

"Of course. Why do you ask?" She sounded bemused by his curiosity.

"I don't understand why you were allowed to become an ambassador to the Varden and dwarves, as well as ferry Saphira's egg from here to Tronjheim. It's too dangerous an errand for a princess, much less the queen-in-waiting."

"You mean it's too dangerous for a _human_ woman. I told you before that I am not one of your helpless females. What you fail to realize is that we view our monarchs differently than you or the dwarves. TO us, a king or queen's highest responsibility is to serve their people however and wherever possible. If that means forfeiting our lives in the process, we welcome the opportunity to prove our devotion to – as the dwarves say – hearth, hall, and honor. If I had died in the course of my duty, then a replacement successor would have been chosen from among our various Houses. Even now I would not be required to become queen if I found the prospect distasteful. We do not choose leaders who are unwilling to devote themselves wholeheartedly to their obligation." She hesitated, then hugged her knees against her chest and propped her chin on them. "I had many years to perfect those arguments with my mother." For a minute, the _wheet-wheet_ of the cicadas went undisturbed in the clearing. Then she asked, "How go your studies with Oromis?"

Eragon grunted as his foul temper returned on a wave of unpleasant memories, souring his pleasure at being with Arya. All he had wanted to do was crawl into bed, go to sleep, and forget the day. "Oromis-elda," he said, working each word around his mouth before letting it escape, "is quite thorough."

He winced as she gripped his upper arm with bruising strength. "What has gone amiss?'

He tried to shrug her hand off. "Nothing."

"I've traveled with you long enough to know when you're happy, angry… or in pain. Did something happen between you and Oromis? If so, you have to tell me so that it can be rectified as soon as possible. Or was it your back? We could-"

"It's not my training!" Despite his pique, Eragon noted that she seemed genuinely concerned, which pleased him. "Ask Saphira. She can tell you."

"I want to hear it from you," she said quietly.

The muscles in his jaw spasmed as he clenched his teeth. In a low voice, no more than a whisper, he first described how he had failed at his meditation in the glade, then the incident that poisoned his heart like a viper coiled in his chest: his blessing.

Arya released his arm and clutched at the root of the Menoa tree, as if to steady herself. "Barzul." The dwarf curse alarmed him; he had never heard her use profanity before, and this one was particularly apt, for it meant _ill fate._ "I knew of your act in Farthen Dûr, for sure, but I never thoughts… I never _suspected_ that such a thing could occur. I cry your pardon, Eragon, for forcing you to leave your rooms tonight. I did not comprehend your discomfort. You must want to be alone."

"No," he said. "No, I appreciate the company and the things you've shown me." He smiled at her, and after a moment, she smiled back. Together they sat small and still at the base of the ancient tree and watched the moon arch high over the peaceful forest before it hid behind the gathering clouds. "I only wonder what will become of the child."

High above their heads, Blagden ruffled his bone-white feathers and shrieked, "_Wyrda!"_

* * *

"I really should be getting back to the castle." They had arrived back at the underground city and were going over a few battle plans with the other members of Black Lightning. The table was scattered with maps and books as they pointed and spoke about where their newest information had come from and was about.

They all looked up at him quickly, their faces expressing nothing other than confusion. "Why are you so eager to leave?"

He blinked, "It's not that I'm eager to leave, it's that I need to rejoin Nasuada. I have a duty to assist her whenever she needs it of me. Today, she's holding several meetings I had already planned on attending with her."

"What exactly do you do for her?" Trevin asked, narrowing his eyes a bit at Mark.

"I am her council – one whom she trusts very much. I do my best not to let her down."

"You two seem rather close, to just be council," he said.

Mark blinked, "Whatever you're insinuating, I can assure you that you're mistaken. I simply owe her a debt and am repaying it with my assistance." He looked between them and landed on Kendra last.

She sighed a little under her breath, "He's just doing it so he knows as much as he can without looking suspicious. She trusts him and gives him valuable information; leave him alone about it now will you? It's no worse than Rowan pretending to be the son of a lord."

"Only that he is," Trevin pointed out, smirking. "Just fails miserably at being one."

"At least I can pass for noble," he said, glancing at him a moment. "Fine. Your remember how to get back in? You won't be shown again if you leave without telling anyone."

Mark nodded, "I think I can find my way."

"Let me walk you out," Kendra insisted, standing straight and walking across the black stone floor. Nyx trotted after her quietly, leaving the others behind. She paused half a moment to let him catch her stride, walking shoulder to shoulder with him.

He glanced over at her, waiting for her to speak or continue on in silence.

"I don't like Nasuada." She said after they had entered the stairwell, where no one else would hear them speak.

"That was made clear after your last visit with her."

"And I don't like that you spend so much time with her. It distracts you from focusing on our goals." She said to him.

Ignoring the jealousy in her tone, he said, "I have to play both sides in order to win. I'm not doing this for anyone except myself."

"Why would you openly tell me such a thing?"

"It's the truth. You know better than anyone how difficult lying about something can be. You have difficulty hiding your identity every day. If you tell the wrong person you'll be killed and you know that, but you're so compelled to sharing with someone what you are and how your blood doesn't matter that you don't care and throw caution to the wind. I don't tell just anyone the truth, but you've earned it more than once."

She nodded and opened the door, stepping outside into the evening air. "You should probably get back to her before she sends someone out to look for you."

"If I leave, can I be assured I won't be pulled back to come searching through the woods for you tomorrow morning?"

"Of course." She nodded, "I don't plan on leaving again like that any time soon. It's on rare occasion that I do so."

Mark turned to leave and paused, "Why did you name your horse Lynette?"

"All the questions in the world and you choose to ask me that?" Kendra shot him a glare and then broke into a small smile, "I didn't name her; my sister did." She turned and walked back into the hidden doorway, vanishing from sight.

He blinked and turned around; walking down the street, remembering the day Aluora received her name. Mariah had named her.

* * *

"Kieran told me all about your endeavors, especially about this necromancer…" Galbatorix said over breakfast.

Mariah blinked and looked up, staring at the princess.

"I'm afraid the magic is too complex to be performed without significant risks, despite all the research Kieran managed to collect, however I believe a similar effect can be achieved and utilized in battle. Wouldn't you agree Kieran?"

"Yes," she nodded. "A rapid healing effect of some sort would be valuable on a battlefield. Necromancy is difficult if not properly set up."

Looking down at her plate, Mariah pushed her food away slightly, feeling ill. Murtagh spared her a glance and nudged her foot with his own to reassure her. She sat quietly until they were all allowed to leave, with the promise of training the remainder of the day.

"You look like you didn't sleep at all last night," Murtagh said once they were out of earshot of theothers.

"I didn't," she admitted to him. "I kept myself busy reading and thinking, before I knew it, it was morning."

"You can't keep doing that to yourself you know; it's going to take a toll on your performance."

Mariah looked up at Murtagh and blinked, "You sound like Kieran."

"I'm sorry, but it's true. You really do need rest, at least some times Mariah."

She huffed, frustrated. "I can't. I try and then I wake up screaming in the middle of the night. I'm better off not sleeping than living through the nightmares that show up in my head. It's like hell, Murtagh, only worse. I don't know if you could understand. I've been trying to tame them, and it helped, when we were gone, they weren't so severe. But here, in these walls I go mad when I'm incapable of controlling my thoughts. If you knew how many times I've seen my own brother decapitated – either by myself or someone I know – you'd probably wake up screaming too.

"These aren't a pathetic child's nightmares…" she looked up at him coldly. "I know you think they are and that I need to get over them but it's harder than you think it is. Each time it's more vivid than the last and if I don't figure out how to stop it from happening, each night it just gets worse. Thank you for your concern, but don't tell me things I already know and believe that it's so easily controlled." Mariah pulled at her vambraces and pushed past him toward the courtyard where she could take her rage out on Hal.

* * *

It's a very long chapter, I know. It's late - I know. But better to be late than not show up at all! Nearly halfway through Eldest though. I keep getting caught up in the end of this book's details, I have so much I want to add, but I have to hold back a little while longer, which is why I'm having difficulty doing this part, I keep getting ahead of myself. So I took a break, and realized I can't get to the end until I finish the middle. Doesn't that smart?

Mark's been accepted into the group... sort of. He's still the awkward odd-man-out as per usual. At least Kendra tries to help him fit in.

Eragon can't seem to get over his mistake in Farthen Dur after Oromis said something about it, even Arya can't pull him out of his little reverie...

Mariah's stuck in a perpetual state of frustration because of her nightmares and now she's taking it out on Murtagh. But Pearce is being nice... right?

Anyone you want to see more of that you think I'm being unfair to? Kieran, Kendra or any of the new riders? (who may or may not be getting their dragons very possibly far away soon)

Complain a little. If anything, you people don't complain enough.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone! Being single means freedom so I'm gonna go pal around with Mark before one of the girls snatch him up.

With Love, As Always,

Mariah


	20. Ch 60: Songbird

**Chapter Sixty: Songbird**

Mark blinked, watching Farica – Nasuada's attendant – rushing past him down the hallway. He watched her rushing down the hall for a moment before shaking his head and continuing on to Nasuada's room, knocking on it quietly. "Nasuada?"

"Come in Marcus!" He pushed the door open and stepped into her quarters, watching her fumbling over a gown on her lap. "Any particular reason you're sewing? I thought you were in a meeting today?"

"You missed it," she said plainly, pressing two of her fingers together in an attempt to stop them bleeding. There was another knock on the door. Her face transformed into a pleasant smile. "Enter!" she said.

Mark turned slightly to see the doors thrust open and watched as Trianna strode into the room, her brown locks tousled and piled high above her head with obvious haste. She looked as if she had just been roused from bed. Bowing in the dawrven fashion, she said, "You asked for me, Lady?"

"I did." Relaxing into a chair, Nasuada let her gaze slowly drift up and down Trianna. The sorceress lifted her chin under Nasuada's examination. "I need to know: What is the most important rule of magic?"

Trianna frowned, "Why didn't you simply ask Mark? I'm sure he's perfectly capable of answering such a simple question."

"I arrived mere moments ago Trianna, I'm assuming Nasuada needed this information right away, so she sent away for you. Now, if you don't mind, please answer her question." He said, folding his arms across his chest.

She huffed slightly and looked back at Nasuada, "That whatever you do with magic requires the same amount of energy as it would to do otherwise."

"And what you _can _do is only limited by your ingenuity and by your knowledge of the ancient language?"

"Other structures apply, but in general, yes. Lady, why do you ask? These are basic principles of magic that, while not commonly bandied about, I am sure you are familiar with/"

"I am. I wished to ensure that I understood them properly." Without moving from her chair, Nasuada reached down and lifted the overgown so that Trianna could see it. There lace on the dress was burned and torn drastically, making it irreparable. "So then, within those limits, you should be able to devise a spell that will allow you to manufacture lace with magic."

A condescending sneer distorted with sorceress's dark lips. "Du Vrangr Gata has more important duties than repairing your clothes, Lady." Mark raised an eyebrow at her tone. "Our art is not so common as to be employed for mere whims. I'm sure that you will find your seamstress and tailors more than capable of fulfilling your request. Now, if you will excuse me, I-"

"Be quiet, woman," said Nasuada in a flat voice. Astonishment muted Trianna in midsentence. Mark smirked and said nothing. "I see that I must teach Du Vrangr Gata the same lesson that I taught the Council of Elders: I may be young, but I am no child to be patronized. I ask about lace because if you can manufacture it quickly and easily with magic, then we can support the Varden by selling inexpensive bobbin and needle lace throughout the Empire. Galbatorix's own people will provide the funds we need to survive."

Mark blinked and looked at Nasuada, stunned at the simple genius of her idea.

"But that's ridiculous," protested Trianna. Even Farica looked skeptical. "You can't pay for a war with _lace_."

Nasuada raised an eyebrow. "Why not? Women who otherwise could never afford to own lace will leap at the chance to buy ours. Every farmer's wife who longs to appear richer than she is will want it. Even wealthy merchants and nobles will give us their gold because our lace will be finer than any thrown or stitched by human hands. We'll garner a fortune to rival the dwarves'. That is, _if_ you are skilled enough in magic to do what I want."

Trianna tossed her hair. "You doubt my abilities?"

"Can it be done?"

Trianna hesitated, then took the overgown from Nasuada and studied the lace strip for a long while. At last she said, "It should be possible, but I'll have to conduct some tests before I know for certain."

"Do so immediately. From now on, this is your most important assignment. And find and experience lace maker to advise you on the patterns."

"Yes, Lady Nasuada."

Nasuada allowed for her voice to soften. "Good. I also want you to select the brightest members of Du Vrangr Gata and work with them to invent other magical techniques that will help the Varden. That's your responsibility, not mine."

"Yes, Lady Nasuada."

"_Now,_ you are excused. Report back to me tomorrow morning."

"Yes, Lady Nasuada."

Satisfied, Nasuada watched the sorceress depart after casting a quick glance at Mark, then closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy a moment of pride for what she had accomplished. "This is _my _contribution to the Varden," she told herself.

Mark smiled, "That was quite brilliant. I never would have thought of anything like that."

"No man would have thought of that," she said. "But it's a solution to our financial problems."

"I'm starting to think you don't need my assistance anymore. You solved this all on your own, and managed to put Trianna back in her place. You're getting quite good at this you know."

She shook her head, "I still need your advice once in a while." Nasuada turned to Farica, "You may leave us now."

"Yes Ma'am." Farica bowed to both of them before leaving through the servant's door.

Mark stretched and swung himself down into a chair, "How did your meetings go with Orrin and the others?"

"Dreadful. Orrin refuses to continue funding us; he simply can't afford it any longer. Which is where this idea came from."

"It's understandable, you know," he said. "I'm surprised he's helped us for this long already."

She sighed and nodded. "Where did you go off to? It's not like you to miss meetings of any sort."

Mark leaned on his knees and let out a sigh, "With Kendra, or at least, trying to find her. She decided to take an unannounced trip through the forest and I felt the need to find her before something happened to her."

"You're becoming quite attached to her."

"She is the princess, I feel obligated to keeping track of her. And it's likely in my best interests to do so. You know how to play this game as well as I. Don't think of it as anything more than that."

Nasuada smiled at him, "I won't then. Now, I'm quite tired from today's events-"

He stood without being asked, bowing his head to her, "Have a good evening Nasuada." Mark insisted, turning and heading out to his own room with the promise of visiting Trianna and the other magicians the next day.

* * *

A blast of ravening wind tore Eragon from his sleep.

Blankets flapped over him as a tempest clawed at his room, hurling his possessions into the air and knocking the lanters against the walls. Outside, the sky was black with thunderheads.

Saphira watched as Eragon staggered upright and fought to keep his balance as the tree swayed like a ship at sea. He lowered his head against the gale and made his way around the room, clutching at the wall until he reached the teardrop portal through which the storm howled.

Eragon looked past the heaving floor to the ground below. It appeared to rock back and forth. He swallowed and tried to ignore the churning in his stomach.

By touch he found the edge of the cloth membrane that could be pulled out of the wood to cover the opening. He prepared to launch himself from one side of the gap to the next. If he slipped, nothing would stop him from falling onto the roots of the tree.

_Wait, _said Saphira.

She backed off the low pedestal where she slept and laid her tail alongside him so that he could use it as a handrail.

Holding the cloth with just his right hand, which took all his strength, Eragon used the line of spikes on Saphira's tail to pull himself across the portal. As soon as he reached the far side, he grabbed the cloth with both hands and pressed its edge into the groove that locked it in place.

The room went silent.

The membrane bulged inward under the force of the angry elements but showed no sign of giving. Eragon poked it with his finger. The fabric was as taunt as a drum.

_It's amazing what the elves can do,_ he said.

Saphira cocked her head, then lifted it so that her head was flat against the ceiling while she listened. _You'd better close up the study; it's been wrecked._

As he headed toward the stairs, the tree jolted and his leg buckled, sending him down hard on one knee.

"Blast it," he growled.

The study was a whirlwind of paper and quills, darting about as if they had a mind of their own. He dove into the flurry with his arms wrapped around his head. It felt like he was being pelted with stones when the tips of the quills struck him.

Eragon struggled to close the upper portal without Saphira's help. The moment he did, pain – endless, mind-numbing _pain_ – ripped open his back.

He screamed once and went hoarse from the strength of his cry. His vision flashed with red and yellow, then faded to black as he toppled to his side. Below, he heard Saphira howl with frustration; the staircase was too small and, outside, the wind was too ferocious for her to reach him. His connection with her receded. He surrendered to the waiting darkness as a release from his agony.

A sour taste filled Eragon's mouth when he woke. He did not know how long he had been lying on the floor, but the muscles in his arms and legs were knotted from being curled into a tight ball. The storm still assailed the tree, accompanied by a thudding rain that matched the pounding in his head.

_Saphria…?_

_I'm here. Can you come down?_

_I'll try._

He was too weak to stand on the pitching floor, so he crawled to the stairs and slid down one at a time, wincing with each impact. Halfway down, he encountered Saphira, who had jammed her head and neck as far up the stairs as she could, gouging the wood in her frenzy.

_Little one. _She flicked out her tongue and caught him on the hand with its rough tip. He smiled. Then she arched her neck and tried to pull back, but to no avail.

_What's wrong?_

_I'm stuck._

_You're… _He could not help it; he laughed even though it hurt. The situation was too absurd.

She snarled and heaved her entire body, shaking the tree with her efforts and knocking him over. Then she collapsed, panting. _Well, don't just sit there grinning like an idiot fox. Help me!_

Fighting the urge to giggle, he put his foot on her nose and pushed as hard as he dared while Saphira twisted and squirmed in an attempt to free herself.

It took more than ten minutes before she succeeded. Only then did Eragon see the full extent of the damage to the stairwell. He groaned. Her scales had cut through the bark and obliterated the delicate patterns grown out from the wood.

_Oops, _said Sahpira.

_At least you did it, not me. The elves might forgive_ you. _They'd sing dwarf love ballads night and day if you asked them to. _

He joined Saphira on her dias and huddled against the flat scales of her belly, listening as the storm roared about them. The wide membrane became translucent whenever lightning pulsed in jagged shards of light.

_What time do you think it is?_

_Several hours before we must meet Oromis. Go on, sleep and recover. I will keep guard._

He did just that, despite the tree's churning.

* * *

Mariah stared out her window, singing quietly as Andrar and Thorn gave chase to one another above the court yard. Her hands laced together at her waist twisting her fingers unconsciously as words drifted softly from her lips. After letting loose on Hal yesterday, she'd knocked him out; even then she hadn't let up. So, as punishment for nearly killing one of his new Riders, Galbatorix confined her to her room. She didn't mind, her window still overlooked the courtyard where her dragon was, making it far less lonely than he had intended.

During training yesterday, Camilla had been so bold as to ask about getting their own dragons after going through so much rigorous preparation. Galbatorix had ignored her questioning and left shortly after. The simple thought of Camilla on dragonback was enough to make her shiver.

Blinking, she realized she'd stopped singing and sighed. "No more daydreaming." Mariah turned and stared at the wall, where she'd placed a target, going over to the table where a few spare knives she'd stolen from the kitchen were laid out. Picking one of them up, she weighed it in her hand and spun it between her fingers, focusing on not cutting herself; letting the knife hurtle toward the target a moment later, she scowled as it clattered to the ground. She picked up another and flung it toward the wood again, managing to stick the knife deep into the grain. Walking over, Mariah placed her fingers at the tip and pulled it out, looking to see how far she'd managed to penetrate it; smiling when it appeared deep enough to dig into someone's chest.

She collected her knives and returned to the table with the intent of practicing some more. When the door handle clicked she twisted and flung the knife across the room, listening to the twang of metal as it stuck in the door just a few inches from Murtagh's face.

"Stealing cutlery from the kitchens now? Getting inventive I see, being locked up all day."

Mariah blinked at him, "What do you want?"

"Just came to see how you were faring in confinement." He assured her, grabbing the knife out of the door, "though it appears I've caught you at a bad time, maybe I should come back later."

She stared at him from across the room.

Murtagh sighed, "Alright. I was a little worried; yesterday with Hal… that was a lot, even for you."

"You're worried about Hal now?"

"No, I'm worried about you," he said, stepping in and closing the door. "You didn't sleep last night again did you?"

"I told you, I don't sleep if I can help it. If you're coming in here to try and convince me otherwise, you can leave now because it's not going to happen."

Murtagh flopped down onto the couch, kicking his feet up. "Fine. I won't then. Why were you trying to kill him anyway?"

"I wasn't trying to kill Hal… but I wouldn't have cared if I did." She said, turning back toward the window.

He sighed and watched her silently.

"You're staring."

"I am not." He said, averting his eyes from her as she turned toward him.

Mariah glared at him, "Why are you still in here? Don't you have something better to do?"

He shook his head, watching her turn back around toward the window again. "It's my job to bother you."

"No it's not." She said. "You're not my brother. Brothers bother, that's their job."

Murtagh blinked. "It's been troubling you again, hasn't it? How this is all going to end up…" He stood, walking over. "Mariah, it's like I said earlier, we'll do what we can, but unless we figure out a way to break out of this oath, we're stuck."

"You don't need to keep repeating yourself, Murtagh." She insisted, folding her arms. "I know all of that already. I don't need a constant reminder from you that I'm stuck in this god forsaken place… why are you up here?"

"Galbatorix wanted to see you." He said finally.

She stopped - breathing, blinking, her heart skipped a beat. "Now?" He nodded, watching as Mariah turned, collecting her thoughts and walked out the door.

* * *

Mark strode down to the headquarters of Du Vrangr Gata the following morning, knocking on the door, telling himself to at least attempt being polite. A young girl opened the door and blinked at him. She was clearly a maid from the castle. "Lord Marcus."

"Good morning," he said, "I wish to speak with Trianna, if she's here."

"Yes, of course." She curtseyed a little before backing into the room and holding the door for him. The sorceress was already staring his way, trying to bite back her sneer.

He raised an eyebrow at her, his lips flickering into a haughty smirk. "I've come to discuss the plans Nasuada gave you yesterday."

"I believe we can manage on our own without your added input."

"I'm merely advising because I wish to see it is done. There will be no delays I trust?"

She chewed on her tongue a moment, glancing around the room at the others. "Of course. We will start working on it immediately." A few of them shot looks toward her and shuffled their tomes closed. "Is there anything else you wanted to say? I'm sure we would all work much better without your piercing gaze lingering on us."

"No," he said simply, his eyes darting between their faces. "But do expect me to come back and check on your progress. That's all…" he dismissed himself, walking back out of the door the maid held for him. Mark listened to their hushed whispers as the door closed and chuckled quietly in his throat before turning towards Nasuada's quarters.

He knocked on her door and Farica, Nasuada's maid, opened the door, letting him in.

"-to take you to her."

"Asked? By whom? And why?"

Jörmundur spoke quickly, "A boy on the practice field told me that you should visit the child. Said that you would find it interesting. He refused to give me his name, but he looked like what that witch's werecat is supposed to turn into, so I thought… Well, I thought you should know." He looked embarrassed. "I asked my men questions about the girl, and I heard things… that she's _different_."

"In what way?"

He shrugged. "Enough to believe that you should do what the werecat says."

"Magic," she said, making it a curse."

"Magic," agreed Jörmundur, though he used it as a word of awe and fear.

Mark blinked between them, "I've come at a bad time, considering."

Nasuada's gaze turned to him, "Quite the contrary, I've need of your advice. Come with me."

"Of course."

She turned to her other advisor, "Is she within the castle?"

"Orrin gave her and her caretaker rooms on the west side of the keep."

"Take us to her."

Gathering up her skirts, Nasuada ordered Farica to postpone the rest of the day's appointments, and then left the chambers. Behind her, she heard Jörmundur snap his fingers as he directed four guards to take up positions around her. Mark rolled his eyes behind their lids as he stopped in the hall, turning to look at Nasuada. The guards always made him laugh – they would be of little help if she were to be attacked. She had scoffed earlier at the word "magic" and all it comes with, but she truly didn't understand the benefits of it, considering her one guard that could use it was the most likely to save her life.

The heat within Borromeo Castle had increased to the point where they felt as if they were trapped within a giant bread oven. The air shimmered like liquid glass along the windowsills. Mark glanced at Nasuada a moment only to find she seemed the most comfortable of the group in the heat, despite her heavy dress. The guards and many of the other Varden had fainted from heatstroke – two of whom died an hour or two later – due to the high temperatures they simply weren't accustomed to.

When they finally reached their destination, Jörmundur knocked, and a quavering voice from inside asked, "Who is it?"

"Lady Nasuada, come to see the child," he said.

"Be you of true heart and steadfast resolve?"

This time Nasuada answered, "My heart is pure and my resolve is as iron."

"Cross the threshold, then, and be welcome."

The door swung open to an entryway lit by a single red dwarf lantern. No one was at the door. Proceeding inward, Nasuada saw that the walls and ceiling were swathed with layers of dark fabric, giving the place the appearance of a cave or lair. To her surprise, the air was quite cold, almost chilly, like a brisk autumn night. Apprehension sank its poisonous claws into her belly. _Magic._

A black mesh curtain blocked her way. Brushing it aside, she found herself in what was once a sitting room. The furniture had been removed, except for a line of chairs pushed against the shrouded walls. A cluster of fain dwarf lanterns were hung in a dimple of the sagging fabric overhead, casting weird multicolored shadows in every direction.

Mark blinked, realizing he didn't know why they were here exactly. He glanced at Nasuada, but she was fully focused on the people in front of her. A bent crone watched her from the depths of one corner, bracketed by Angela the herbalist and the werecat, who stood with his hackles raised. In the center of the room knelt a pale girl that Nasuada took to be three or four years old. The girl picked at a platter of food on her lap. No one spoke.

"Where is the baby?" Nasuada asked, confused.

The girl looked up.

Mark's breath caught in his throat as he saw the dragon mark bright upon the child's brow and as he peered deeper into her violet eyes. The girl quirked her lips with a terrible, knowing smile. "I am Elva."

Nasuada recoiled without thinking, clutching at the dagger she kept strapped to her left forearm. It was an adult's voice and filled with an adult's experience and cynicism. It sounded profane coming from the mouth of a child.

His mind started reeling instantly. He should have mind-searched Eragon when he'd had the chance. He should have made him repeat _exactly _what he'd said; had Saphira tell him exactly what had happened. He should have throttled the boy for doing something so stupid. He should have made sure something like this wasn't going to happen before Eragon left. He shouldn't have dismissed it so simply like he had.

"Don't run," said Elva. "I'm your friend." She put the platter aside, it was empty now. To the crone, she said, "More food." The old woman hurried from the room. Then Elva patted the floor beside her. "Please, sit. I have been waiting for you ever since I learned to talk."

Keeping her grip on her dagger, Nasuada lowered herself to the stones. "When was that?"

"Last week." She was staring at Mark now expectantly. "You as well."

He sat down next to Nasuada hesitantly. His eyes moved over Nasuada's body, her ridged form looking strange – he'd never seen her so unnerved before, like she was fighting the urge to scream and run from the room.

Leaning forward, Elva reached out and cupped Nasuada's cheek with one soft hand. "You know, Ajihad could not have led the Varden better than you have. You chose the correct path. Your name will be praised for centuries for having the courage and foresight to move the Varden to Surda and attack the Empire when everyone else thought it was insane to do so."

Nasuada gaped at the girl, stunned. Mark watched as tears burst from her eyes and rolled down her face. "What _are_ you?" she demanded, her voice sounding distraught.

"I am what Eragon made me."

"He blessed you."

"No. He did not," Mark said slowly.

Elva's gaze turned to him, their eyes meeting. No one was able to hold his gaze like that, not even Mariah. Brom may have been able to, but for the past several months, most people avoided looking into his eyes. Elva seemed to enjoy it - staring into his soul. "He did not understand his actions. Since Eragon ensorcelled me, whenever I see a person, I sense all the hurts that beset him and are about to beset him. When I was small, I could do nothing about it. So I grew bigger."

"Why would-" Nasuada started, but it was clear the conversation had turned away from her.

"The magic in my blood drives me to protect people from pain… no matter the injury to myself or whether I want to help or not." Her smile acquired a bitter twist. "It costs me dearly if I resist the urge."

Mark shook his head slowly. "He misspoke when he placed that blessing upon you. And I fear Saphira's actions only amplified it…"

Nasuada asked, "Why have you told me this?"

"I thought that you should know who and what I am." Elva paused, and the fire in her gaze strengthened. "And that I will fight for you however I can. Use me as you would an assassin – in hiding, in the dark, and without mercy." She laughed with a high, chilling voice. "You wonder why; I see you do. Because unless this war ends, the sooner rather than later, it will drive me insane. I find it hard enough to deal with the agonies of everyday life without also having to confront the atrocities of battle. Use me to end it and I'll ensure that your life is as happy as any human has had the privilege to experience."

At that moment, the crone scurried back into the room, bowed to Elva, and handed her a new platter of food. It was a physical relief to Nasuada as Elva looked down and attacked a leg of mutton, cramming the meat into her mouth with both hands. She ate with the ravenous intensity of a gorging wolf, displaying a complete lack of decorum. With her violet eyes hidden and her dragon mark covered by black bangs, she once again appeared to be nothing more than an innocent child.

Nasuada waited until it became apparent that Elva had said all she was going to. Then – at a gesture from Angela – she accompanied the herbalist through a side door, leaving the pale girl sitting alone in the center of the dark, cloth-bound room, like a dire fetus nestled in its womb, waiting for the right moment to emerge. Mark stood to follow; pausing after his back was turned.

_Your future is very dark indeed, if you continue down your current path there will be naught but pain and heartache. By aligning yourself to those around you, you are condemning yourself to agony which you may not be able to rectify. A very dark day is quickly arriving where you will be forced to make a choice, be prepared to harm one close to you in order to keep another safe._

He hadn't even felt her slip past his mental walls. Steeling himself, he decided it better not to respond and followed after Nasuada, feeling violet eyes boring into his closed the door quickly behind him, "All she does is eat and eat. We can't sate her appetite with the current rations. Can you-"

"She'll be fed. You needn't worry about it." Nasuada rubbed her arms.

"Thank you."

"Has this ever happened to anyone else?"

Angela shook her head until her curly hair bounced on her shoulders. "Not in the entire history of magic. I tried to cast her future, but it's a hopeless quagmire – lovely word, _quagmire_ – because her life interacts with so many others."

"Is she dangerous?"

Mark smirked at her answer, "We're all dangerous."

"You know what I mean."

Angela shrugged. "She's more dangerous than some and less than others. The one she's most likely to kill, though, is herself. If she meets someone's who's about to be hurt and Eragon's spell catches her unawares, then she'll take the doomed person's place. That's why she says inside most of the time."

"How far in advance can she foretell events?"

"Two or three hours at the most."

Mark blinked, deciding to keep Elva's commentary to himself. It didn't sound like something that was going to happen in a few hours, but he'd been wrong before.

"I realize," said Nasuada, "that this is presumptuous of me, as you aren't under my command and I know little of your life or duties, but I have a favor to ask of you."

"Proceed." Angela waved a hand.

Nasuada faltered, "Would you be willing to keep an eye on Elva for me? I need-"

"Of course! And I'll keep two eyes on her, if I can spare them. I relish the opportunity to study her."

"You'll have to report to me," warned Nasuada.

"The poison dart hidden in the raisin tart. Ah, well, I suppose I can manage."

"I have your word, then?"

"You have my word."

Nasuada groaned in relief and sank into a nearby chair. "Oh, what a mess. What a _quagmire_. As Eragon's liegelord, I'm responsible for his deeds, but I never imagined that he would do anything as dreadful as this. It's a blight on my honor as much as his."

A ripple of sharp pops filled the room as Angela cracked her knuckles. "Yes. I intend to speak to him about it once he returns from Ellesméra."

Her expression was so fierce, it alarmed Nasuada. "Well don't hurt him. We need him."

"I won't… permanently."

Mark chuckled a little at Angela. Then he let out a small sigh, turning to Nasuada. "If anyone should be responsible Nasuada, it's me. I knew about this whole ordeal moments after it happened. I was careless; I knew better than to believe Eragon wouldn't have accidentally misspoken when he placed the blessing on Elva. I should have taken it upon myself to investigate it further before allowing him to leave. Please, don't feel as though this reflects poorly on you."

She stared up at him. "You knew?"

"About everything, yes. I even can guess his exact wording he used for the spell, for he told me what he believed he'd said… he misspoke and said the word "shield" instead of "shielded" in the Ancient Language, allowing for the drastic shift from blessing to curse."

"Can it be undone?"

"Possibly… but it would be best if Eragon did so himself. Though, even then, considering I don't exactly know the effects of what Saphira's mark has done… I'm unsure." He admitted.

Nasuada nodded a little, "We'll have to deal with that when the time comes."

* * *

Mariah inhaled deeply and stepped through the doors, her eyes immediately going to Shruiken curled up in the corner, glaring at her through his slitted eyes. "Murtagh said you asked for me." She turned her gaze toward Galbatorix.

"Indeed," he said, pivoting on his heel to face her. "We've not had much time to get acquainted Mariah."

She lifted her chin a bit, steeling herself, "I was under the impression you didn't much like heartfelt conversations."

"I said nothing of the sort." Galbatorix said, "When you arrived here, your mind was so muddied and twisted from Durza's cursed magic that I was unable to retrieve any information from you. Then, you swore an oath, which you have somehow managed to twist to your own advantage… haven't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "I've twisted no oaths I've sworn to you."

"So you say." He walked toward her, watching her flinch slightly under his piercing gaze. When he was close enough to reach out and touch her, he stopped. "You will submit to another memory search, it's your choice whether or not you wish it to be painful. But let me just start by saying I'm very displeased with your attitude lately."

She met his gaze hesitantly, "What is it you think you'll be able to retrieve from my mind?"

"There are a few things I wouldn't mind knowing, the least of which being the identity of your brother." He said, watching her intently.

Mark? Why did he want to know about Mark? She blinked at him, "I will submit to no such thing."

"Then I will force you." He assured her, reaching out and grabbing her shoulder in a vice grip before she could dart away. After struggling a moment she heard him mumble a few words under his breath and felt her strength start to fade away. Before she could blink, he'd sucked away so much energy that she could barely stand, feeling quite light headed. Shoving a hand against his chest to try and push him away, Mariah met his gaze again and realized there would be no getting away from this.

Her skin felt like it was burning, the pain in her head worse than she remembered from the last time he'd pried into her thoughts. Galbatorix sifted through the memories like they were pages in a book he'd read a dozen times. People and locations flashed through her mind, but he skipped over most of them so quickly she barely had time to recognize anything, let alone put a name to any of the faces. The deeper and longer he searched, the harder it was to stay conscious. Her vision started going blurry and blinding white flashes started popping up everywhere.

She hit the floor with a smack that echoed around the throne room. It took her a few minutes to regain herself and pick her face up off the floor. The gash right above her eyebrow started bleeding and trickling down her face. Mariah flicked her eyes up to Galbatorix, who was standing over her, staring down at her with burning intensity. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and a shiver rushed down her spine.

"I knew you seemed familiar," he said quietly. His awe-struck stare flickered back into a masked sneer, "I had thought I heard singing, though I hadn't realized it was you. Those lyrics were very familiar - thank you for confirming my suspicions, little songbird. And let me just say that if the affairs between you and any of the others become… distracting, I will put a quick end to it. For now, I will allow it, should it prove to be disadvantageous, you'll find yourself in solitary. I don't suspect you'll be singing then."

Without another word, he turned and strode from the room, leaving Mariah to pick herself up and wipe away the blood clotting at her brow.

* * *

This chapter was very Mark-heavy. That's okay though, I like Mark… Happy Wednesday!

How does this version of Galbatorix compare to what's in the fourth book? (which I have not read) I honestly have no idea...

Halfway through this book… why does this one seem so much longer than the first? (Despite the obvious fact that is IS way longer than the first) it just SEEMS so bloody long… unnecessarily so… just drabble at times…

With Love, As Always,

Mariah


	21. Ch 61: For King and Country

**Chapter Sixty-One: For King and Country**

Oromis's timepiece buzzed like a giant hornet, blaring in Eragon's ears until he retrieved the bauble and wound the mechanism.

His bashed knee had turned purple, he was sore both from his attack and the elves' Dance of Snake and Crane, and he could do no more than croak with his ragged throat. The worst injury, though, was his sense of foreboding that this would not be the last time Durza's wound would trouble him. The prospect sickened him, draining his strength and will.

_So many weeks passed between attacks, _he said,_ I began to hope that maybe, just maybe, I was healed… I suppose sheer luck is the only reason I was spared that long._

Extending her neck, Saphira nuzzled him on the arm. _You know you aren't alone, little one. I'll do everything I can to help. _He responded with a weak smile. Then she licked his face and added, _You should get ready to leave._

_I know. _He stared at the floor, unwilling to move, then dragged himself to the wash closet , where he scrubbed himself clean and used magic to shave.

He was in the middle of drying himself when he felt a presence touch his mind. Without pausing to think, Eragon began to fortify his mind, concentrating on an image of his big toe to the exclusion of all else. Then he heard Oromis say, _Admirable, but unnecessary. Bring Zar'roc with you today. _The presence vanished.

Eragon released a shaky breath. _I need to be more alert, _he told Saphira. _I would have been at his mercy if he were an enemy._

_Not with me around._

When his ablutions were complete, Eragon unhooked the membrane from the wall and mounted Saphira, cradling Zar'roc in the crook of his arm.

Saphira took flight with a rush of air, angling toward the Crags of Tel'naeir. From their high vantage point, they could see the damage that the storm had wreaked on Du Weldenvarden. No trees had fallen in Ellesméra, but father away, where the elves' magic was weaker; numerous pines had been knocked over. The remaining wind made the crossed branches and trees rub together, producing a brittle chorus of creaks and groans. Clouds of golden pollen, as thick as dust, streamed out from the trees and flowers.

While they flew, Eragon and Saphira exchanged memories of their separate lessons from the day before. He told her what he had learned about ants and the ancient language, and she told him about downdrafts and other dangerous weather patterns and how to avoid them.

Thus, when they landed and Oromis interrogated Eragon about Saphira's lessons and Glaedr interrogated Saphira about Eragon's, they were able to answer every question.

"Very good, Eragon-vodhr."

_Aye. Well played, Bjartskular, _added Glaedr to Saphira.

As before, Saphira was sent off with Glaedr while Eragon remained on the cliffs, although this time he and Saphira were careful to maintain their link so as to absorb each other's instruction.

As the dragons departed, Oromis observed, "Your voice is rougher today, Eragon. Are you sick?'

"My back hurt again this morning."

"Ah. You have my sympathy." He motioned with one finger. "Wait here."

Eragon watched as Oromis stride into his hut and then reappeared, looking fierce and warlike with his silver mane rippling in the wind and his bronze sword in hand. "Today," he said, "We shall forgo the Rimgar and instead cross our two blades. Naegling and Zar'roc. Draw thy sword and guard its edge as your first master taught you."

Eragon wanted nothing more than to refuse. However, he had no intention of breaking his vow or letting his resolve waver in front of Oromis. He swallowed his trepidation. _This is what it means to be a Rider, _he thought.

Drawing upon his reserves, he located the nub deep within his mind that connected him to the wild flow of magic. He delved into it, and the energy suffused him. "Geuloth du knifr," he said, and a winking blue star popped into existence between his thumb and forefinger, jumping from one to the next as he ran it down Zar'roc's perilous length.

The instant their swords met, Eragon knew that he was as outmatched by Oromis as by Durza and Arya. Eragon was an exemplary human swordsman, but he could not compete with warriors whose blood ran thick with magic. His arm was too weak and his reflexes still too slow. Still, that did not stop him from trying to win. He fought to the limits of his abilities, even if, in the end, it was a futile prospect.

Oromis tested him in every conceivable manner, forcing Eragon to utilize his entire arsenal of blows, counterblows, and underhand tricks. It was all for naught. He could not touch the elf. As a last resort, he tried altering his style of fighting, which could unsettle even the most hardened veteran. All it got him was a welt on his thigh.

"Move your feet faster," cried Oromis. "He who stands like a pillar dies in battle. He who bends like a reed is triumphant!"

The elf was glorious in action, a perfect blend of control and untamed violence. He pounced like a cat, struck like a heron, and bobbed and wove with the grace of a weasel.

The had been sparring for almost twenty minutes when Oromis faltered, his narrow features clamped in a brief grimace. Eragon recognized the symptoms of Oromis's mysterious illness and lashed out with Zar'roc. It was a low thing to do, but Eragon was so frustrated, he was willing to take the advantage of any opening, no matter how unfair, just to have the satisfaction of marking Oromis at least once.

Zar'roc never reached its target. As Eragon twisted, he overextended and strained his back.

The pain was upon him without warning.

The last thing he heard was Saphira shouting, _Eragon!_

* * *

Mariah leaned against her door once it was closed behind her. After she'd regained full consciousness, Mariah had scuttled back to her room, one hand along the wall the entire way, trying not to pass out. The gash in her forehead throbbed with pain, adding to the oncoming headache she knew would stay with her the rest of the week.

Looking up from the book he'd been reading as he was laid out on the sofa, he startled and jumped to his feet, hurrying to her. "What happened?" Murtagh asked, running his fingers over her brow, sealing the wound.

She let out a heavy breath and leaned her head back against the wood, closing her eyes. Visions flashed through her mind quickly, remnants from the mind scalding she'd incurred earlier. "I need you… to do something for me."

He blinked, "What?"

"I mean it, once I tell you, you have to do it. I'll never ask you for anything else again-"

"Okay, I get it." Murtagh nodded, putting a hand on her cheek. "Tell me what to do."

Swallowing hard she opened her eyes again, his eyes wide with concern. "I need you to start wiping my memories…"

"What? Mariah – I couldn't-"

"You already said you would," she said calmly. "I don't know what he figured out, but he knows something and I don't want him to know any more. You don't have to erase everything, just the new stuff… I'll tell you what, but eventually you'll understand what I mean. I want you to start with this conversation… I don't want to remember this at all…"

He stared at her for a long moment before speaking again. "What happened?"

"He searched my mind, like when I first arrived… since I've put most of it back together, he was better able to examine my memories. From his reaction when he was through, he found something important and meaningful… I have no doubt he'll start doing it more often." She bit her tongue. "He also said… if I don't start behaving that he'll have to do something about it."

Murtagh nodded, "I can see why he would be threatening to do so. You have been quite unruly lately." He paused, "Mariah… are you sure about this?"

"Yes." She said without hesitation. "I need you to erase the memories I need you to and replace them with something… safe… boring… what have you. Anything other than my actual thoughts… I'm trying to work on a way out of here, and if he figures out what I'm doing… we're both stuck."

"Alright… just tell me what to do."

Mariah felt a small wave of relief wash over her and she nodded slightly. "I need to sit down." She said, heading toward the couch, feeling Murtagh grip her arm to steady her when she wobbled. Falling into the cushion, she rubbed her forehead for a minute, closing her eyes again. "Alright… before we get rid of any of my recollection of this conversation, do you know what I need you to get rid of all the time?"

"Anything pertaining to you wanting to leave, right?"

"Yes… and anything about escaping, killing, being worried about Galbatorix or the others… alright? You should pretty much be able to figure out what to get rid of and what to leave."

"And what do you want me to replace it with? I think he'd notice if your memory had gaps in it."

"If the gaps are too big to leave, fill it with something boring… like staring out a window or reading." Mariah told him, leaning back with a sigh.

Murtagh nodded, "How often do you want me to do this?"

"Every day, at least once… if not twice… and if you see a chance to pull me aside without anyone noticing too much, then go ahead," she said. "And if I ever ask, just tell me-"

"That I'm protecting you from Galbatorix?"

"Sure… whatever will get me to stop thinking about it."

He nodded, carding his fingers through his hair with a heavy sigh. "What if I screw it up?"

"You won't," she said reassuringly. "I trust you… you won't erase all my memories."

"…by giving me access to your mind… you realize you've got no more secrets, right?"

Mariah stared at the fireplace for a minute, lost in the flickering flames. Finally she turned her gaze back to Murtagh, "No more secrets from me. I still expect you to keep things hidden though, so don't feel bad about it… this is my choice. I could ignore it and let Galbatorix have access to my thoughts, but that would be foolish… I'm choosing to have you do this. I know you won't take advantage of it. I hope you don't find anything offensive in my memories, but if you do, then it'll just have to be dealt with later. Okay?"

"Alright," he nodded, reaching over and taking her hand.

She smiled faintly at him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Thank you." Mariah said, leaning her head on his shoulder.

He said nothing in reply, brushing her hair behind her angled ears and kissing the top of her head. Gently, he touched his fingers to her temple and started muttering under his breath, hiding his surprise at how open, for once, her mind was to him.

* * *

Despite the intensity of the fit, Eragon remained conscious throughout his ordeal. Not that he was aware of his surroundings, only the fire that burned in his flesh and prolonged each second into an eternity. The worst part was that he could do nothing to end his suffering but wait…

…and wait…

Eragon lay panting in the cold mud. He blinked as his vision came into focus and he saw Oromis sitting on a stool next to him. Pushing himself onto his knees, Eragon surveyed his new tunic with a mixture of regret and disgust. The fine russet cloth was caked with dirt from his convulsions on the ground. Much filled his hair as well.

He could sense Saphira in his mind, radiating concern as she waited for him to notice her. _How can you continue like this? _She fretted. _It'll destroy you._

Her misgivings undermined Eragon's remaining fortitude. Saphira had never before expressed doubt that he would prevail, not at Dras-Leona, Gil'ead, or Farthen Dûr, nor with any of the dangers they had encountered. Her confidence had given him courage. Without it he was truly afraid.

_You should concentrate on your lesson, _he said.

_I should concentrate on you._

_Leave me alone!_ He snapped at her like a wounded animal that wants to nurse its injuries in silence and in dark. She fell silent, leaving just enough of their connection intact so that he was vaguely aware of Glaedr teaching her about fireweed, which she could chew to help her digestion.

Eragon combed the mud from his hair with his fingers, then spat out a globule of blood. "Bit my tongue."

Oromis nodded as if it were to be expected. "Do you require healing?"

"No."

"Very well. Tend to your sword, then bathe and go to the stump in the glade and listen to the thoughts of the forest. Listen, and when you hear no more, come tell me what you have learned."

"Yes, Master."

When Eragon rejoined Oromis in his hut, the elf asked, "How went it?"

"Master, I could listen night and day for the next twenty years and still not know everything that goes on in the forest."

Oromis raised an eyebrow. "You have made progress." After Eragon described what he had witnessed, Oromis said, "But still not enough, I fear. You must work harder, Eragon. I know you can. You are intelligent and persistent, and you have the potential to be a great Rider. As difficult as it is, you have to learn to put aside your troubles and concentrate entirely on the task at hand. Find peace within yourself and let your actions flow from there."

"I'm doing my best."

"No, this isn't your best. We shall recognize your best when it appears." He paused thoughtfully. "Perhaps it would help if you had a fellow student to compete with. Then we might see your best… I will think on the matter."

Eragon watched Oromis stand and walk to the cupboards, his words springing thoughts of Mariah into his head. She would have half of this stuff already figured out already, and more than likely be slipping him hints when he was stuck for an answer. If they were competing, she would have brought out the best in him – their rivalry stemming from their friendship and encouragement of one another to become better than they already were. His thoughts were brought back to Oromis when he handed Eragon a bowl full of vegetable stew.

He looked at the stew with distaste; he was sick of the elves' fare. He longed for meat, fish, or fowl, something hearty that he could sink his teeth into, not this endless parade of plants. "Master," he asked to distract himself, "why do you have me meditate? Is it so that I will understand the doings of the animals and insects, or is there more to it than that?"

"Can you think of no other motive?" Oromis sighed when Eragon shook his head. "Always it is thus with my new students, and especially with the human ones; the mind is the last muscle they train or use, and the one that they regard the least. Ask them about swordplay and they can list every blow from a duel a month old, but ask them to solve a problem or make a coherent statement and… well, I would be lucky to get more than a blank stare in return. You are still new to the world of gramarye – as magic is properly called – but you must begin to consider its full implications."

"How so?"

"Imagine for a moment that you are Galbatorix, with all of his vast resources at your command. The Varden have destroyed your Urgal army with the help of a rival Dragon Rider, who you know was educated – at least in part – by one of your most dangerous and implacable foes, Brom. You are also aware that your enemies are massing in Surda for a possible invasion. Given that, what would be the easiest way to deal with these various threats, short of flying into battle yourself?"

Eragon stirred his stew to cool it while he examined the issue. "It seems to me," he said slowly, "that the easiest thing would be to train a corps of magicians – they wouldn't even have to be that powerful – force them to swear loyalty to me in the ancient language, then have them infiltrate Surda to sabotage the Varden's efforts, poison wells, and assassinate Nasuada, King Orrin, and other key members of the resistance."

"And why hasn't Galbatorix done this yet?"

"Because until now, Surda was of negligible interests to him, and because the Varden have dwelled in Farthen Dûr for decades, where they were able to examine every newcomer's mind for duplicity, which they can't do in Surda, since its border and population are so large."

"Those are my very conclusions," said Oromis. "Unless Galbatorix forsakes his lair in Uru'baen, the greatest danger you're likely to encounter during the Varden's campaign will come from fellow magicians. You knew as well as I how difficult it is to guard against magic, especially if your opponent has sworn in the ancient language to kill you, no matter the cost. Instead of attempting to first conquer your mind, such a foe will simply cast a spell to obliterate you, even though – in the instant before you are destroyed – you will still be free to retaliate. However, you cannot fell your murderer if you don't know who or where he is."

"So sometimes you don't have to bother taking control of your opponent's mind?"

"Sometimes, but it's a risk to avoid." Oromis paused to consume a few spoonfuls of stew. "Now, to address the heart of this issue, how do you defend yourself against anonymous enemies who can contravene any physical precautions and slay with a muttered word?"

"I don't see how, unless…" Eragon hesitated, and then smiled. "Unless I was aware of the counsciousnesses of all the people around me. Then I could sense if they meant me harm.

Oromis appeared pleased by his answer. "Even so, Eragon-finiarel. And that's the answer to your question. Your meditations condition your mind to find and exploit flaws in your enemies' mental armor, no matter how small."

"But won't another magic user know if I touch their mind?"

"Aye, they will know, but most people won't. And as for the magicians, they will know, they will be afraid, and they will shield their minds from you out of their fear, and you will know them because of it."

"Isn't it dangerous to leave your consciousness unguarded. If you're attacked mentally, you could easily be overwhelmed."

"It's less dangerous than being blind to the world."

Eragon nodded. He tapped his spoon in a measure meter of time, engrossed by his thoughts, then said, "It feels wrong."

"Oh? Explain yourself."

"What about people's privacy? Brom taught me to never intrude into someone's mind unless it was absolutely necessary… I guess I'm uncomfortable with the idea of prying into people's secrets… secrets that they have every right to keep to themselves." He cocked his head. "Why didn't Brom tell me about this if it's so important? Why didn't he train me in it himself?"

"Brom told you," said Oromis, "what was appropriate to tell you under the circumstances. Dipping into the pool of minds can prove addictive to those with a malicious personality or a taste for power. It was not taught to prospective Riders – though we had them meditate as you do throughout their training – until we were convinced that they were mature enough to resist the temptation. It _is _an invasion of privacy, and you will learn many things from it that you never wanted to. However, this is for your own good and the good of the Varden. I can say from experience, and from watching other Riders experience the same, that this, above all else, will help you to understand what drives people. And understanding begets empathy and compassion, even for the meanest beggar in the meanest city of Alagaesia."

* * *

"Where are we off to?" Mark asked, "And why is Nyx wearing armor?"

Kendra stretched her arms over her head and glanced toward her wolf with thick leather fixed around his haunches and torso, to protect his stomach, remaining silent as their red-headed archer filled him in. It was rare, but the whole group was on horse-back, heading north east for a mission. Since someone had to stay behind and retain control of the underground, Rowan had chosen to stay Aberon, though as Eirika had told Mark already, he was likely to sleep most of the time with nothing to do. They'd traveled most of the day already and had insisted upon keeping the topic neutral until they were closer to their destination. The sky was growing steadily darker as the sun set behind the trees lining the road. Stars were beginning to appear, like little white blemishes upon the night.

"Nyx needs to be protected too, so he has armor." Trevin shrugged and continued, "There have been a string of deaths near Lithgow, all seemingly unrelated. One looks like a bear attack, another like poison, drowning, you get the picture. Well, Kendra is under the impression they're murders because most of these people are working with the Varden, or are otherwise linked to Surda and the resistance. Del looked over some maps and decided that the most likely place for a group of assassins to be hanging out would be along the abandoned mining road just south of the city." Trevin told Mark, looking over at him as they rode. "Oh, and kids have been vanishing too. The one thing Kendra hates more than murderers, are kidnappers."

Mark glanced up towards Kendra, as she was riding ahead of everyone else. "Alright, so how many people do you think it is?"

"Half a dozen at least," Delaney said, leaning over his horse's neck. "Considering the number of deaths and kidnappings, and the timing of them all… I'd say no less than six people could handle everything all at once.

"When did you figure all this out?"

"We heard about it a week or so ago, just happened to overhear some things from visiting merchants. I guess it's been happening for a while now, but it's getting out of hand and people are getting suspicious." Trevin shrugged, "People always notice things when it's too late to stop it."

"We'll put an end to it before it gets any more out of hand," Kendra insisted, "Now I want you all to be quiet, we're taking a detour." She grabbed Lynette's reins and pulled her left, off the road and into a clearing that was thickly veiled by the bushes and trees. Dismounting, she waved her hand and Mark could feel the silencing ward she put up. Her eyes narrowed as she peered through the leaves.

She bolted, dagger in hand straight out towards the road, Nyx on her heels. Mark cursed under his breath and spurred Aluora after her. Of the two men in the road, one way lying dead in a pool of his own blood with Nyx standing over him, jaws dripping red, the other straining against Kendra's blade against his throat. As Mark dropped from Aluora's saddle he stared at Kendra, raising one eyebrow.

She said nothing, simply throwing the second down next to the first, pinning him there. "Tell me what you're doing here." Kendra hissed in his ear vehemently.

He sneered at her, his face pressed into the dirt and blood on the road. "Huh… everyone thinks you're dead."

"If you don't start talking, I'll make sure you are."

"Go ahead."

Mark felt a slight mental pull and quickly intercepted his mind, blocking off his access to his magic. He knelt down next to Kendra and narrowed his eyes at the man. "It wouldn't do to have you kill yourself…"

Kendra dug her knee into his back, "Tell me. Now. What are you doing here? How many of you are there?"

He chuckled against the ground and spit, "I'm not telling you anything princess, and as soon as he lets up, you won't have a chance to figure it out."

She growled under her breath, digging the knife into his shoulder, "Tell me!"

"You know the rules better than I do, don't you Kendra? Death or nothing."

Mark blinked, "You want me to dig through his mind? I don't know how far I'd get before he does anything, it's taking everything I have just to hold him."

She breathed heavily for a moment, then blinked in affirmation. Mark readied himself and switched from holding off the suicide spell to finding anything he could. There were about four seconds, and it wasn't nearly enough to get all the details he'd wanted. Kendra sat back on her heels as the others joined them. She wiped off her knife on the dead man's clothes and stood up straight. "Anything?"

"Just where they're hiding. But I think you can fill me in about the rest…"

She nodded gravely and whistled for Lynette, who came trotting out, stepping right into the blood and allowing Kendra to swing up onto her back. "Lead the way then Mark."

Aluora trotted alongside the chestnut mare, allowing for Mark to listen as Kendra spoke. She told him about the Black Hand, those they were directly opposing. The group of Galbatorix's hand-picked spies and assassins he'd often bothered to train himself, when he wasn't focused on training her or her sister in the black arts. "I'm amazed we haven't run into them yet, considering how long we've been doing this."

"So the name you chose, Black Lightning, is in reference to them?"

"Exactly, so if they know about us, they'll know we know about them… simple as that. I hoped it would be a reason for them not to threaten us, but I think it might have made us a target instead…"

Mark nodded, "So when we go to their hideout, I should be expecting the worst?"

"Yes. We should all expect the worst, which is why Erikia is staying behind."

"Hey!" She said, flicking her eyes to shoot a glare at the back of Kendra's head.

She sighed, turning in her saddle, to face the girl. "If we all die in there, someone has to make it back to Rowan and we all know he'd kill us if it wasn't you."

Eirika fell back into her saddle, folding her arms, retaining her grip on her Appaloosa's reins. The mare's coat was brown with a white spotted blanket on her back and haunches, striped hooves were coated with mud. In a city where the guard's horses were military-standard brown and black, the horses the group had stood out. It was difficult to miss and Mark found himself wondering how they managed to hide them as well as they did.

He glanced over at Kendra for a minute, raising an eyebrow. When she huffed a sigh, tired of talking on what she had hoped to be a quiet ride, Trevin answered his unspoken question. "Rowan has a minor obsession in making sure Eirika is safe before the rest of us. And just Eirika. Doesn't give a damn about the rest of us."

Mark chuckled quietly, though he was pretty sure the last part wasn't true. He seemed to care enough about Kendra being gone to go find her, but perhaps that was a different situation. Though it irked Eirika to no end, he knew how Rowan felt. She was the youngest of their group, a girl, and therefore extremely vulnerable; the situation was not unlike him and Mariah. Though the reasoning behind their obsessive protection issues stemmed from different forms of affection, the end result seemed to be the same.

"Alright, so the Black Hand is Galbatorix's assassin group… why haven't I heard about them before now?"

"He likes keeping it a secret."

"Seems like something he'd want everyone to know… worried that assassins could sneak into your house and kill you for saying something about him makes me think it'd be the opposite."

Kendra shook her head, "It's to keep an eye on his enemies without letting them know. One of the many reasons he sends people out to look for me. Him hunting me down never comes from his care for me; it comes from him wanting me there or dead – better yet, dragged back to the castle and killed by him personally."

"You truly believe your father would kill you himself?"

"In a heartbeat," she told him. "There would be no hesitation… if you don't count in the torture and pain he would inflict beforehand. He enjoys that part. He doesn't tolerate disobedience very well… it usually ends in violence."

* * *

They were quiet for a while, eating, then Oromis asked, "can you tell me, What is the most important mental tool a person can possess?"

It was a serious question, and Eragon considered it for a reasonable span before he ventured to say, "Determination."

Oromis tore the loaf in half with his long white fingers. "I can understand why you arrived at that conclusion – determination has served you well in your adventures – but no. I meant the tool most necessary to choose the best course of action in any given situation. Determination is as common among men who are dull and foolish as it is among those who are brilliant intellects. So, no, determination cannot be what we're looking for."

This time Eragon treated the question as he would a riddle, counting the number of words, whispering them out loud to established whether they rhymed, and otherwise examining them for hidden meaning. The problem was, he was no more than a mediocre riddler and had never placed very high in Carvahall's annual riddle contest – not surprisingly he lost to Mark every year. He thought too literally to work out the answers to riddles that he had not heard before, a legacy of Garrow's practical upbringing.

"Wisdom," he finally said. "Wisdom is the most important tool for a person to possess."

"A fair guess, but, again, no. The answer is logic. Or, to put it another way, the ability to reason analytically. Applied properly, it can overcome any lack of wisdom, which one only gains through age and experience."

Eragon frowned. "Yes, but isn't having a good heart more important than logic? Pure logic can lead you to conclusions that are ethically wrong, whereas if you are moral and righteous, that will ensure that you don't act shamefully."

A razor-thin smile curled Oromis's lips. "You confuse the issue. All I wanted to know was the most useful _tool _a person can have, regardless of whether that person is good or evil. I agree that it's important to be of a virtuous nature, but I would also contend that if you have to choose between giving a man a noble disposition and teaching him to think clearly, you'd do better to teach him to think clearly. Too many problems in this world are men with noble dispositions and clouded minds. History provides us with numerous example of people who were convinced that they were doing the right thing and committed terrible crimes because of it. Keep in mind, Eragon, that no one thinks of himself as villain, and few make decisions they think are wrong. A person may dislike his choice, but he will stand by it because, even in the worst circumstances, he believes that it was the best option available to him at the time. On its own, being a decent person is no guarantee that you will act well, which brings us back to the one protection we have against demagogues, tricksters, and the madness of crowds, and our own surest guide through the uncertain shoals of life: clear and reasoned thinking. Logic will never fail you, unless you're unaware of – or deliberately ignore – the consequences of your deeds."

"If elves are so logical," said Eragon, "then you must all agree on what to do."

"Hardly," averred Oromis. "Like every race, we adhere to a wide range of tenets, and, as a result, we often arrive at differing conclusions, even in identical situations. Conclusions, I might add, that make logical sense from each person's point of voice. And although I wish it were otherwise, not all elves have trained their minds properly."

"How do you intend to teach me this logic?"

Oromis's smile broadened. "By the oldest and most effective method: debating. I will as you a question, then you will answer and defend your position." He waited while Eragon refilled his bowl with stew. "For example, why do you fight the Empire?"

The sudden change of topic caught Eragon off guard. He had a feeling that Oromis had just reached the subject that he had been driving toward all along. "As I said before, to help those who suffer from Galbatorix's rule and, to a lesser extent, for personal vengeance."

"Then you fight for humanitarian reasons?"

"What do you mean?"

"That you fight to help the people who Galbatorix has harmed and to stop him from hurting any more."

"Exactly," said Eragon.

"Ah, but answer me this, my young Rider: Won't your war with Galbatorix cause more pain than it will ever prevent? The majority of people in the Empire live normal, productive lives untouched by their king's madness. How can you justify invading their land, destroying their homes, and killing their sons and daughters?"

Eragon gaped, stunned that Oromis could ask such a question – Galbatorix was _evil _– and stunned because no easy reply presented itself. He knew that he was in the right, but how could he prove it? "Don't you believe that Galbatorix should be overthrown?"

"That is not the question."

"You _must _believe it, though," persisted Eragon. "Look what he did to the Riders."

Dunking his bread in his stew, Oromis resumed eating, letting Eragon fume in silence. When he finished, Oromis folded his hands in his lap and asked, "Have I upset you?"

"Yes, you have."

"I see. Well then, continue to ponder the matter until you find an answer. I expect it to be a convincing one."

* * *

This was some form of punishment, Mariah was sure: blindfolded in the middle of the courtyard with nothing but a sword in her hand and thick leather armor over her vital body parts. Her arms and legs were virtually exposed with a simple layer of cloth between her skin and the air. With her feet planted firmly on the ground she waited in silence, trying to listen. The first attack was extremely unexpected. She tumbled forward, doing a summersault before springing back onto her feet, twisting and lashing at her unseen attacker.

Galbatorix sat in his chair, enjoying the fight from beside Kieran. She had her arms folded haughtily over her chest, smirking at the flashing weapons, waiting for blood to be drawn. Camilla, Cederic, Pearce and Hal were surrounding Mariah, weapons in hand, sharpened edges not protected by any sort of magic. It was the day after Galbatorix asked her to come to the throne room alone, and she had a feeling this was her public punishment to go along with it. As if the mental torture wasn't enough.

Hal had heavier movements and she heard him coming, before he could reach her she ducked and charged his waist, bowling him over onto the floor and jumping back away, knowing he wouldn't stay down for long. Camilla had lighter footsteps, but even so, her heels gave her away from the boys and when she approached with her rapier, Mariah managed to dodge and swipe her own sword towards the woman.

Murtagh watched from Galbatorix's other side, biting the inside of his lip, watching the movements of the other four and tapping his fingers against his leg nervously. His gaze flickered over to Andrar and Thorn for a minute before back to Mariah, holding in gasps every time she was cut.

_Two steps back darling, _Andrar said, _Cederic's just in front of you._

_Just lend me your eyes and I'll see for myself! _She snapped.

_Everything's going to feel backwards if you do, watching yourself will be difficult._

_It'll be like a mirror, just do it please._ Mariah insisted, feeling another slice into the back of her leg. The dragon sighed slightly and linked her vision with his own. She twisted and stabbed toward Hal before he could get any closer. He jumped back with surprise at her rapid movement. As Pearce moved around her she swiveled to face him, between her hearing and Andrar's sight, she felt more evenly matched, despite the odds.

She lunged toward him and he blocked with his shield. When she returned for another attack she let out a cry as her feet were swept beneath her. "What?!"

Her eyes flickered over the courtyard, Andrar's gaze landing on Innes smirking from his corner where he stood beside Odette. His lips were moving ever so slightly, enough for her to realize he was performing magic where he shouldn't. A growl escaped from her lips and she lunged toward Camilla, snatching the knife from her waist and flinging it towards the platinum-haired boy. Innes blinked and dropped to the floor, listening to the metal bounce off the castle walls.

"That is enough!" Galbatorix said, standing up and striding over to Mariah. He narrowed his eyes and ripped off the blindfold. "You aren't following the rules again, are you?" She blinked twice, the redness from Andrar's sight fading, but not quick enough for it to go unnoticed. "Since you appear to be so keen on having your dragon assist you, perhaps you would do better to duel Kieran in the air?"

The princess didn't need a second suggestion, running over to Nasreen and jumping atop her back, sword in hand.

"Go ahead." He said simply.

Mariah, bleeding from dozens of cuts all over, shot a glare at Kieran and strode over to Andrar, who lifted himself from the ground and launched into the air once she was on. The dragoness took no time waiting for him to get airborne, dive-bombing him as soon as he was off the ground and snapping with her razor sharp jaws. Kieran swept wildly with her sword towards Mariah, leaving her to defend or be torn to ribbons.

Andrar did his best to out maneuver Nasreen, but with more practice and a better flying build than him. She swept away from him and twisted in the air, tucking in her wings and flipping around behind him and his rider. A moment later she was latched onto him, her teeth around his neck, pinning his right wing to his side and letting them fall straight down. Mariah slashed toward Nasreen's face, slicing straight into her cheek. The dragoness hissed and recoiled, letting go long enough for Andrar to breathe flames towards her and Kieran, sending them soaring away. He lashed out his wings and caught the air before they hit the ground.

Shaking slightly, Murtagh watched, letting out the breath he'd been holding in as they plummeted. _Thorn… _

_Don't worry, Andrar can hold his own against Nasreen, though he is outmatched. I doubt Kieran would actually allow Nasreen to harm them… _The red dragon sat on the ground, watching the tussle overhead intently.

Murtagh watched as Nasreen repeated the same maneuver a few minutes later, pinioning Andrar's wings to his side and bringing them both straight down toward the ground. Before they hit the solid stone courtyard floor, she broke off and winged back into the air. Andrar slammed into the ground, crunching his left wing beneath him, Mariah hearing a resounding snap as she hung limp in his saddle.

* * *

The Annual Riddle Contest of Carvahall – it sounds like an absolute thrill. I actually had to pause and re-read this sentence… I forgot about it, big surprise there. And of course Mark would be awesome at it cuz he's so damned clever…

That being said, I believe sitting and listening to a worldly conversation between Oromis and Marcus over a pot of tea would be an ideal afternoon.

Gah, these chapters are taking forever! I regret that it takes me two weeks to update, it really shouldn't. And I wrote this all in the past two days, so it's not like I couldn't do it faster… I have paperclipped all the parts just with Roran…

…I just realized Roran and Rowan are extremely similar… damn… I wanted to avoid that… oh well…

…where was I? Oh, the parts with Roran are like 100+ pages in the book, so I've paperclipped off the chapters that I'll be skipping. Which is great, it means a lot less writing for me, a lot less reading for you, and advances the plot quicker! Not as quickly as I would like, but quicker none the less…

Rimgar is just a fancy word for Yoga… honestly.

Yay new chapter! And I felt like this was a good one, compared to the last few that have been slightly boring and wanting… yes? No?

With Love, As Always,

Mariah


	22. Temporary Hiatus Explanation

**Hiatus**

**or **

**Why There Isn't A New Chapter**

First off, let me say I'm really sorry about not updating recently.

I've been having some family issues going on and it's been taking up a lot of my time.

My best friend also recently moved away and it's taking more of a toll on me than I had anticipated.

Between my family, school, my own personal problems and, well, life in general, I have had very little time to do anything for myself, let alone write.

It's taking me a lot longer to write a single chapter because I simply don't have the time to sit down and write anything.

I hope to have the next chapter up by the end of the month. And I will try my hardest to get more up as well, but until then please bear with me.

I love you all, thanks for your support - be it follows, reviews, or simply reading when you're browsing anonymously.

With Love, As Always,

Mariah


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